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h 239 SACKMAN ST\, BROOKLYN, NEW YORK 

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Price, 25 Cents 





















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LIBRARY of CONGRESS 
Two Cooies Received 

APR 19 1906 


/Copyright Entry / 



Copyright, 1906. 
BY THE AUTHOR. 



TMP92-007597 








Dedicated to 


ADELLA KEAN, 


My Dearest Friend and Comrade. 


The Author. 






PERSONS REPRESENTED. 


Solomon Isaacovich Herzfarb (The Shylock of Ensk), 
46 years of age. 

Miriam, his mother, 63 years of age. 

Esther, his sister, a childless widow, 35 years of age. 

Rosalya Solomonovna (Rosalie), his daughter, 22 years 
of age. 

Phineas Abraamovich Milman, his friend, a merchant 
of Ensk. 

Natalya Osipovna Retvinskaya (Natalie), the Major’s 
daughter, 26 years of age. 

Ivan Ivanovich (The Grumbler), an aged servant. 

Mordecai, tailor. 

Masha, maidservant. 

In the first act, the action takes place at the sum¬ 
mer residence of the Herzfarbs, in a Russian manu¬ 
facturing village in the vicinity of the town of Ensk. 
Then it is transferred to the Herzfarbs’ town residence 
at Ensk. 









ACT I. 


Comfortably spacious and well-kept grounds in 
the rear of a rich mans substantial country house. 
Patches of flower beds, stretching beyond the stage, 
on the left. In the depth of the stage, running through 
its entire breadth, is a tall fence with locked gate on 
the extreme left. In the center, a little forward, is a 
large leafy tree, shading the settee under it; movable 
leather cushions on the settee; in front of it a plain 
deal table , rather heavy. On the table a box of cigars, 
a silver cigar case, a match-and-ash dish, not very 
costly; a cigar stump; a fine, black silk skull-cap. 

On the left, another table at zvhich Rosalya Solo¬ 
monovna Herzfarb is busily at work preparing parcels 
for her next round of charity. Masha and Ivan Ivanov- 
itch are with her. On the table are all sorts of things; 
as, a number of new stockings, ribbons, a New Test¬ 
ament, a Jezvish prayer book, a cheap shawl, a tobacco 
pouch,some A, B Cs,some cheap picture books, a slate, 
knitting needles, pieces of soap, medicinal jars and 
bottles, etc., etc. In front of her, a hand-satchel into 
which she packs away some of the things, checking 
them off in her notebook. Alongside of the satchel 
a number of bills and a dishful of silver coins, with 
zvhich she fills a number of envelopes, marking the 
address and the sum; these also go into the satchel. 
On the ground in front of her is an open trunk, from 
zvhich Masha produces the things that go to make up 
the pile on the table. Ivan Ivanovitch watches the 


8 


A Russian Shylock. 


proceedings in respectful silence. Rosalie is expe¬ 
rienced in the work, and knows what she wants; 
hoivever, she hesitates at times, and, on second 
thought, stops in the making up of one parcel and 
takes up another instead. 

On the right, about a yard from the fence, thus 
leaving a passage to the front of the house and thence 
to the street, is the rear wall, with porch and stairs 
to the grounds. On the porch is seen Solomon Isaac - 
ovich Herzfarb; on his lap a book which he does not 
read. He lights a match, feels in his pocket for 
cigars, is unsuccessful, throws azvay the match; then 
lights a cigarette and throws it away impatiently after 
a few puffs. Esther Isaacovna Herzfarb comes out 
on the porch. A pantomime ensues, with character¬ 
istically Jewish gesticulations. She obviously wants 
him to do something; he is only annoyed. Unsuc¬ 
cessful, she re-enters the house. He descends into 
the grounds; is thoughtful and puzzled. As he passes 
the table in the center he greedily grabs at his cigar 
case, dlls it with fresh cigars from the box, puts on 
his skull-cap, and with a cigar in his mouth ap¬ 
proaches the group on the extreme left; seems to 
watch them a while (unheeded by them), and disap¬ 
pears, obviously seeking for solitude in some further 
corner of the grounds. Another porch, still more 
forward, for the servants. 

A number of odd chairs are scattered about the 
grounds. It is late in the afternoon, on a clear day, 
late in August. The grounds, toward the front, are 
in the shade thrown off by the house. Outside the 


A Russian Shylock. 


9 


fence, a Russian manufacturing village is seen in the 
distance. 

Rosalie: ( Producing a receipt, puts it in an envelope; 
then, as an after-thought, adds a paper ruble). 

Masha : Bless you, Rosalya Solomonovna. Won’t they 
be glad. There, you devil of a collector, I say, stick this 
receipt in your throat. But that ruble—no, sir; your arms 
are not long enough; you cannot grab that; that’s for the 
family. Oh-oh-oh, a widow’s lot. And wasn’t he—Mi- 
cola, that is—of iron build ? Strong as an oak, and a hard¬ 
working man, Micola was; wasn’t he, Ivan Ivanitch? 

Ivan : So he was; never a word to say against it. ( To- 
Rosalie) And why should he not be? A poor man has to 
work. Work—it follows clearly—is the poor man’s pass¬ 
port, Rosalya Solomonovna. There, poor devil, take it; for 
a month or two, as one’s luck may be, and stray about in the 
world—a crumb to eat while it lasts. Yes, young lady, bless 
you. That’s what it is, my little mother. 

Masha: (Sighs) Oh—oh—oh! ( Produces from the 
trunk a long string of much-used carpenter’s tools). 

Ivan: Andrushka the Shaggy One’s this is? 

Masha : And whose else can it be ? 

Ivan : That’s it. “You fool,” say I to him, “You de¬ 
serve a mighty good flogging. That’s what you should be 
given to teach you well, you fool,” I say. “It follows clearly; 
stop drinking.” But a poor man must drink—that’s what 
it is. Yes. Here I am—picked up from the gutter, so to 
speak, by your father, Solomon Isaac’ich, bless him. Says 
he: “Will you drink, you devil’s guy?” “In no way, I 
won’t,” say I.—“Upon your conscience?” says he.—“There 


IO 


A Russian Shylock. 


is the cross for you, good sir,” say I. And he sent me to 
the lumber yard. Got my passport, that is. I got my pass¬ 
port. And not a drop ever since. Not a drop. Of course, 
for appetite, or, say, on a holiday—that’s a different line, 
that is. A man must have a drop once in a while. It follows 
clearly one cannot do without it. 

Ros. Sol.: ( To Sol Is.) A puzzling task, wasn’t it, 
papa? 

Sol. Is.: What ? 

Ros. Sol. : To find the cigars. Shakespeare is a hard 
nut to crack, it seems. You are so thoughtful. 

Sol. Is. : Well, well! It is curious to see how small a 
great mind may be—at times. 

Ros. Sol. : I wonder what he is like in the original. But 
I must first be through with my Byron. What are you read¬ 
ing now ? 

Sol. Is. : The Merchant of Venice. 

Ros. Sol. : A grand conception, isn’t it? 

Sol. Is. : Oh, yes. A grand conception and a grander 
lie. 

Ros. Sol. : ( Laughing ) Well, papa, poets are the only 
liars that speak the truth. 

Sol. Is. : Not always; not always. 

(Exit Sol. Isaakovitch.) 

Iv. Ivan. : Yes, ma-am. That was long ago, when mas¬ 
ter was pleased to pick me up from the gutter. Took pity, 
that is. You were then but a wee bit of a little girl, Rosalya 
Solomonovna, you were, be it not mentioned to offend you. 
Yes, and a tom-boy. Eh, what a tom-boy, and self-willed! 
Oooh-ooh! That’s how it used to be. “Attention!” (As¬ 
sumes the corresponding soldierly attitude) “At-ten-tion!” 


A Russian Shylock. 


i i 


Yes, sir. Ca-ap-tain ! (Laughs softly) He-he-he! So I say, 
Andrushka the Shaggy One, a good flogging—that’s what 
would fit you exactly. It follows clearly, you have but one 
way, I say. See our young lady, and make a clean breast of 
it, I say. But heed me well. No lying talk to her, I say. 
It won’t work. She is a shrewd one—that’s you, Rosalya 
Solomonovna—is a shrewd one and knows what is what.— 
“So and so, kind madam, was on a spree, and pawned my 
tools to get vodka.” And now here they are ( pointing at 
the tools ) one and all. There, take them and mind your 
work, you rascally fool. Yes. A poor man must work. But 
I say, Rosalya Solomonovna—be it your pleasure—I say, 
“Won’t it be money thrown away ? He is good for nothing, 
that fellow is. 

Ros. Sol. : Ah, Ivan Ivanitch, it is a sin to speak thus. 
Should we be better in his place? 

Ivan: ( With suppressed resentment) We in his place! 
Thank you most humbly. We are your servants, young- 
lady. Have many a thing to look after. Here a clear head 
is wanted. One must be in good shape and sober. 

(Enters Natalya Osipovna Retvinskaya.) 

(She is neatly dressed in a plain, light walking-suit, be¬ 
speaking frugality; a closed sunshade in one hand, in the 
other a scroll of loose music sheets. As she appears in the 
passage between the fence and the house, she looks about her 
in search of Rosalie.) 

Iv. Iv.: (Continuing) It follows clearly, Andrushka the 
Shaggy One isn’t of a piece with us; a dog from quite an¬ 
other yard—that’s what he is. Yes. “We in his place.” 
The grand squire! 

Ros. Sol. : Let us not quarrel, Ivan Ivanich (looking 


12 


A Russian Shylock. 


slyly at him). Now, take these tools to the poor fellow 
(Ivan Ivanich brightens up with pleasure; he likes to do the 
errand) and give ( she now notices the approaching Natalya 
Osipovna, is astonished and disturbed, but controls herself) 
—and give—give—him a good lecture, my good Ivan Ivan¬ 
ovich. 

Iv. Iv.: That I will, young lady. “You fool/' I’ll 
say- 

Masha : Ah! See, who is coming, Rosalya Solo¬ 
monovna. 

Ros. Sol.: Oh, Natalya Osipovna! ( Hastens to meet 
her. They shake hands, man fashion. Ros.: “You here?” 
Nat. Os. : “Be easy, all is well!” This hurriedly in subdued 
voices.) Ah, how glad I am to see you! How kind of you 
to bring me the music yourself! Did you enjoy it? 

Nat. Os. : Immensely, thank you. 

Ros. Sol.: Isn’t it fine? Especially this, Tra-la-lala! 
(Sings.) 

Nat. Os.: Beware, Ivan Ivanich. Masha is a cunning 
one. Look out! She’ll capture the brave warrior and lead 
him away at her apron strings. “It follows clearly,” look 
out! It will be worse than to march on Plevna. 

Iv. Iv.: That it will, young lady. For it’s like this, 
Natalya Osipovna: some women folks (glancing at Masha) 
are worse than the Turk. (Masha laughs.) 

Ros. Sol.: (Offering her guest a chair) You will be 
comfortable here in the shade. (Relieves her of the sun¬ 
shade and the scroll of music. This she at once unrolls and 
sings, Tra-la-la-la .) 

Nat. Os.: Busy with your charities, I see. I haven't 
disturbed you, I hope? 



A Russian Shylock. 


13 


Ros. Sol. : Not at all. I have been making ready for 
to-morrow morning. Here, Masha, put these things back 
into the trunk, or rather, leave that for later ( putting the 
bills and silver and envelopes into the satchel). Take this 
to my room, and tell Sarah—oh, never mind, I won’t need 
you any more. 

(Exit Masha.) 

Iv. Iv.: (Still holding the tools, stiffly) Your pleasure, 
Rosalya Solomonovna, about these here tools? 

Ros. Sol. : Why, my good Ivan Ivanich, poor Andrush- 
ka may need them. You had better go at once. 

Iv. Iv.: Yes, ma-am. (Waits). 

Ros. Sol. : What now ? 

Iv 7 . Iv.: (More stiffly, but respectfully) May it please 
you, young lady, to order what I shall tell him. 

Ros. Sol. : (Laughing) Tell him, “It is a sin to drink,” 
and so on. Give him a good lecture, as you know how. He 
needs it, poor fellow. 

(Exit Iv. Ivanich, murmuring, “Poor fellow! Poor fel¬ 
low !” then snapping at Rosalie, “Drunken fellow, that’s 
what he is!”) 

Ros. Sol. : Goodness, Natalie, you here! A second visit 
within this month. How imprudent! 

Nat. Os. : (Smiling reassuringly) As I have told you, 
all is well; be at your ease. 

Ros. Sol. : But what brings you here ? 

Nat. Os. : (Smiling) Guess. 

Ros. Sol. : (Astonished, looks up interrogatively). 

Nat. Os. : I come as a -spy! 

Ros. Sol. : A spy ? 

Nat. Os. : An ugly word to use even in jest. Still, it fits 



H 


A Russian Siiylock. 


'the case exactly. I come to pry into your affairs, or, rather, 
into those of your father. 

Ros. Sol.: ( Disappointed ) Oh! And I thought- 

Nat. Os. : Nor are you mistaken. ( Suddenly glancing 
'uneasily about her, bends over to Rosalie and lowers her 
voice ) I bring good news; very good news. Let not the 
*joy overwhelm you. Be firm. They may see us from the 
house, you know. Don’t cry out. 

Ros. Sol. : (In a whisper, trying hard to control her ex¬ 
citement) Uncle David- 

Nat. Os. : ( Seizing her by both hands) Be firm. He 
has escaped! (In an energetic whisper) Be firm. Control 
yourself. 

Ros. Sol. : (Instinctively wants to raise her hands to 
heaven, but Natalie holds them dozun ) Oh, God! 

Nat. Os. : We may be seen; we may be watched. 

Ros. Sol. : (Firmly) I have myself under control now. 
Tell me all. 

Nat. Os. : Are you sure ? 

Ros. Sol. : Yes, yes. 

Nat. Os. : (Releasing her hands, and rising) Come, let 
us have a turn or two in the grounds. Motion will help you 
master your excitement. Take my arm. 

(The tivo promenading arm in arm.) 

Ros. Sol. : Tell me all. 

Nat. Os. : There is not much to tell. He is now safe in 
concealment. The comrades write they will try to make 
Irkutsk. In the meantime, he is safe; absolutely safe. 

Ros. Sol. : Is he well? Tell me all, all. 

Nat. Os. : He is well and cheerful, and as energetic as 
ever. The comrades are simply delighted with him. I’ll 




A Russian Siiylock. 


15 


tell you the particulars later. We may be interrupted at any 
moment. 

Ros. Sol. : You are right. It won’t do to let them notice 
we have secrets. And, oh! what a secret! What a secret! 

Nat. Os. : Gently, my dear friend, gently ! 

Ros. Sol. : Please let us go to my room. 

Nat. Os. : A little later. The day is fine; we should 
naturally prefer to be out of doors. 

Ros. Sol. : Then let us take a walk. 

Nat. Os. : It will look suspicious. I am hardly rested 
from my walk hither. Besides, you must be thoroughly com¬ 
posed first. Meantime, I’ll tell you on what pretext I am 
here. Do you listen ? 

Ros. Sol. : Yes. 

Nat. Os. : Don’t look so absent-minded. Collect your 
thoughts and listen to me. 

Ros. Sol. : I listen. 

Nat. Os.: Very well, now. Don’t look away; look at 
me. That’s it. Well, to put it plainly, I am here to cross- 
examine you. 

Ros. Sol. : Me ? 

Nat. Os. : That is, to find out through you—remember, 
without making you aware of it—whether your father has' 
really decided to move to town his mill, yards, and other 
plants. 

Ros. Sol. : Oh, I see. At the same time you received 
the good news—of course, you burned the letter? 

Nat. Os. : Certainly. 

Ros. Sol. : And you were impatient to communicate 
with me? 


i6 


A Russian Shylock. 


Nat. Os. : As you may well imagine. The very ground 
seemed to burn under my feet. 

Ros. Sol. : And you seized upon that nasty errand for 
a pretext? 

Nat. Os. : It was a godsend. 

Ros. Sol. : ( Feelingly ) I appreciate your kindness. 
(Squeezes her arm.) 

Nat. Os. : ( Smiling ) Otherwise, I should have had to 
wait until I could notify you in the regular way. But I was 
careful. Why, I made papa accompany me on foot almost 
to your very door. All the world will know now that this 
my visit to you is of his instigation. 

Ros. Sol.: ( Thoughtfully ) Your father isn’t that kind 
of man, I am sure. 

Nat. Os. : Poor papa. It was so hard for him to tell me 
what he wanted of me. He knows it’s ugly. But, then, your 
father’s decision in this matter will affect us most seriously. 

Ros. Sol. : I didn’t know it would hurt your family so 
much. 

Nat. Os.: Of course, it won’t ruin us—far from it. 
But it will cut off a big slice from father’s income. On 
rents alone he reckons he will lose more than half of it, not 
to mention the very considerable depreciation of the prop¬ 
erty. It seems to be the general impression that a big slump 
in land values must follow. Your father, you see, employs 
at least two thousand men. 

Ros. Sol. : Hm, yes—when we are particularly busy, 
I should say. 

Nat. Os.: Anyway, Solomon Isaacovich is the largest 
employer. Should he move his plants, his working men 
will follow him to town, as they must; then the smaller 


A Russian Shylock. 


17 


tradespeople will have to leave, and the place will soon be 
pretty much of a desert. It is only a village, after all. 

Ros. Sol. : That's so, unfortunately. 

Nat. Os. : One need not be an expert economist to un- 

0 

derstand that. And ( smiling sadly) we have learned a thing 
or two in the tight-fisted science. 

Ros. Sol. : My poor friend! You never dreamt, I am 
sure, of ever having to make use of your knowledge in ref¬ 
erence to yourself. 

Nat. Os. : Of course not. However, as I say, it won’t 
ruin us. But has your father decided as we suppose he has ? 

Ros. Sol. : ( Reproachfully ) My dear friend, would I 
let you go on with these saddening economics of yours- 

Nat. Os.: I thought so. So the report is true? 

Ros. Sol. : Say, rather, it will be true. 

Nat. Os.: ( Looks up interrogatively). 

Ros. Sol. : Papa has not made up his mind yet. 

Nat. Os. : What does he say ? 

Ros. Sol. : He has not spoken to me about it. Poor papa! 
He has become so uncommunicative of late; so self-ab¬ 
sorbed, thoughtful, and disturbed. Oh, he is disturbed in his 
mind, I can see that. He is obviously debating the question 
with himself. But from what I can glean from his occa¬ 
sional remarks—a word here, a hint there—I fear very much 
that your anxiety is well founded. 

Nat. Osip. : But you may be mistaken. 

Ros. Sol. : Let us hope for the best. 

Nat. Osip. : He may lose quite a sum by it, they say. 

Ros. Sol. : Perhaps, perhaps. But they don’t know my 
father. 

Nat. Osip. : ( Slowly and thoughtfully) Poor papa! It 



i8 


xA. Russian Shylock. 


is bad enough that his only son must work for a living; be 
“apprenticed to a merchant/’ as he phrases it. And now 
this. Well, if the worse comes to the worse, we’ll have to 
pinch and economize. Poor mother, it’ll fall hardest on her, 
I fear. (Sighs.) 

Ros. Sol. : Ah, what a time, this! What a time ! You 
bring me joy; I bring you sadness. You risk your liberty, 
dearest friend, to save my uncle— 

Nat. Osip. : Not your uncle, but our comrade. 

Ros. Sol.: Yes, yes; and how does his brother repay 

vou! 

Nat. Osip. : But Solomon Isaacovich has not arrived at 
anything definite, as you yourself say. 

Ros. Sol. : No. He has not said the word, if that’s what 
you mean. But he will say it—his own losses notwithstand¬ 
ing. Oh, I know my father. I know him too well. If I 
could but speak with him, argue with him! 

Nat. Osip. : And thus disclose to him your views, your 
principles, your identity, your real self. Poor man. Be 
careful, Rosalie. 

Ros. Sol. : But it will have to come some day. ( With a 
gesture of despair.) 

Nat. Osip. : Then put it off as long as you can. I do 
the same. We must. Besides, I don’t see any urgency just 
now. Surely Solomon Isaacovich cannot be expected any 
more than any other business man to be particularly solici¬ 
tous of the convenience of his neighbors. Why should you, 
dear comrade, be at all put out by it? The usual incidents 
of business. It is nothing new. 

Ros. Sol. : It is not that. Poor papa! Poor papa! 
How he suffers! 


A Russian Shylock. 


19 


Nat. Osip. : ( Anxiously ) He doesn’t suspect you, 
does he? 

Ros. Sol.: Suspect me? Oh, no, why should he? I 
give him no cause. The gendarmerie themselves would think 
me harmless, since you and the comrades are so insistent. 

Nat. Osip. : Patience, dear friend, patience. 

Ros. Sol. : I am patient. But it’s so hard! To see you 
do everything, risk everything, and I- 

Nat. Osip. : All virtue is not in activity alone. 

Ros. Sol. : Ah, but in action there is relief, a bracing 
tonic; and this is denied me. 

Nat. Osip. : ( Feelingly ) My poor friend, it cannot be 
otherwise. 

Ros. Sol. : (Sadly) I know it. 

Nat. Osip. : Especially now that comrade David has 
escaped. Consider. It certainly cannot be very long before 
the local secret service will be notified, and they will be on 
the lookout for a clew; eager to act upon any theory, how¬ 
ever improbable. Your family will be especially watched, 
and yourself more than the rest. 

Ros. Sol. : Yes, yes. 

Nat. Osip. : Not only for the sake of your father, then, 
but for the sake of our enterprise as well, you must continue 
harmless. You must avoid any violent break in the hum¬ 
drum routine of your home life. You will certainly be 
watched; here, not less, perhaps than at vour town residence. 
You must shun us all, as pretty bad company. This must 
be your activity. 

Ros. Sol. : ( Sorrowfully ) The activity of inaction. 

Nat. Osip. : But you must. The cause demands it. 
Not before comrade David has crossed the frontier— 



20 


A Russian Shylock. 


, Ros. Sol.: ( Aroused at last) You are right. My silly 
impatience shall not endanger us all. 

Nat. Osip. : ( Compassionately ) Mv dear friend, it won’t 
be thus much longer. If all goes well, in a couple of months, 
perhaps, you will again be free to be yourself. 

Ros. Sol. : (Assuming, by sheer force of will, the tone 
and manner to suit her words ) In the meantime I am as 
harmless and as well-behaved a butterfly girl as ever broke 
loose from the illustrated page of a fashionable ladies’ mag¬ 
azine. Ha-ha-ha! (The laugh sounds forced.) 

Nat. Osip. : Courage, comrade, courage. 

Ros. Sol.: (As cheerfully as she can) If I must, I 
must. 

(Pause.) 

Nat. Osip. : Time I should be going, I suppose. 

Ros. Sol. : Oh, no, not so soon. Stay yet a while. How 
are your folks? 

Nat. Osip. : Thank you. 

Ros. Sol.: How is your brother? I hope I do not 
touch a sore spot now. He has reformed, hasn’t he? No? 
Why, Phineas Abraamovich seems to be quite delighted 
with him. These are his own words: “Prompt, punctual, 
and reliable.” 

Nat. Osip. : Phineas Abraamovich is very kind, I am 

sure. 

Ros. Sol. : It was not mere conventionality, believe me. 
The good old man intends to promote him, make him his 
general manager or some such thing. He has full trust in 
him. He said as much in my hearing. 

Nat. Osip.: (Taking up her hat and otherwise trying 
not to look at Ros. Sol.) Then he does not know my brother. 


A Russian Shylock. 


21 


Wait till it gets cooler. People will be returning to town. 
George will again have his boon companions. ( Awkward 
pause. Natalya Osipovna puts on her hat.) 

Ros. Sol. : One moment, please. I’ll just run up into 
the house to fetch my things. I’ll be back directly. (Gath¬ 
ers up the music, and runs playfully to the house. On the 
porch she faces about.) Just a minute, dear. 

Nat. Osip. : Poor parents. Know you what disasters 
lie in wait for you? Who will be the first to bring sorrow 
into your lives—George, with his cards, wine, and debauch¬ 
ery, or 1 ? He, that libertine of a son, who has shaken him¬ 
self free of all principles, or I, struggling for the principle of 
liberty? Poor mother, and poor father. I, at least, shall 
not disgrace you. I shall give you no cause to hide your 
faces in shame. Openly and proudly shall you meet the 
gaze of all, as so many heart-broken parents of our comrades 
have done before you, and so many more will do after you; 
as poor Rosalie’s father may have to do some of these days. 
And she so young! Poor girl! My poor, brave friend! 
How she must suffer! Haven’t I lived it all through ? The 
impatience, the thirst for activity; the grief for parents, for 
beloved ones. I have gone through it all, all. Ah, that 
terrible struggle. Happy are they that can afford convents 
and prayers, and have Heaven for their reward. Our con¬ 
vent is our hapless country; our prayer, a ceaseless activity 
among its poor, oppressed people—as ceaseless as is limit¬ 
less their suffering, and as intense as is their pain—and our 
reward? The prison, Siberia, the gallows. Poor, down¬ 
trodden Russia. How long, oh Lord, how long! But it’s 
coming. It is coming, coming, coming. It cannot be other¬ 
wise. Tyranny must yield to Liberty. 


22 


A Russian Shylock. 


Sol. Is. : ( Walks slozvly, lost in thought; on looking up 
he notices Natalya Osipovna.) Ah! Natalya Osipovna. 

Nat. Osip.: (Quickly turning) Oh, Solomon Isaaco- 

vich. 

Sol. Is. : ( Bowing) Good day. 

Nat. Osip. : ( Bowing) Good day and good-bye. 

Sol. Is. : Are you going? Where is Rosalie? 

Nat. Osip. : In the house, Solomon Isaacovich. She 
will be here directly. There she is. 

Ros. Sol.: ( Hatted, with parasol in gloved hand, com¬ 
ing towards them almost at a run) Sir, I have the honor to 
introduce to you the unknown stranger, our greatly esteemed 
Mademoiselle Retvinskaya. Oh, papa, give her a good 
scolding for coming to see us so rarely. Please do. 

Sol. Is.: (Patting her) Haven’t I you to chide, child? 
Seriously, Natalya Osipovna, you have been rather chary of 
your visits lately. Haven’t you two quarreled? (Smiling at 
his own poor guess.) 

Ros. Sol. : Quarreled ? Ha-ha-ha! {Embraces Natalya 
Osipovna) Quarreled, indeed! Just imagine, papa, she 

claims- But have you read the “Viestnik Yevropy”—I 

mean of this month? No? I should have known as much. 
He reads Shakespeare, you see. It’s his latest. Oh, what’s 
the use! Come, Natalya Osipovna. 

Sol. Is. : Where are you going? Not about your char¬ 
ities, I hope. 

Ros. Sol. : ( Saucily ) And suppose I am. 

Sol. Is. : The sun is setting; it will soon be dark. 

Ros. Sol. : The more reason, then, to go where they 
need light. 

Sol. Is.: (Smiling) Can my little girl supply it? 



A Russian Shylock. 


23 


Ros. Sol. : Well, if not light, there is at least some good 
cheer here and here ( pointing at the things on the table and 
at the trunk). 

Sol. Is. : But is there a demand for it? 

Ros. Sol. : Oh, yes, papa; yes! 

Sol. Is. : Then may the supply never be exhausted. 

Ros. Sol. : No, sir; say rather, May the demand cease! 

Sol. Is.: I tell you this can never be, you dreamer. 

Ros. Sol. : And I tell you, papa, it can be, and will be, 
if only ( looking at him quizzically) the law of supply and 
demand be properly applied. ( Taking Natalie's arm.) Now 
let us go. 

(Natalya Osipovna and Sol. Isaacovich bowing; 
he gazes after them as they retreat.) 

Ros. Sol. : ( Looking back over her shoulder) Now, 
sir, ponder it well. Ha-ha-ha! (She pulls Natalie forward, 
as if the latter is not walking fast enough, and then adds, 
looking back to Solomon Herzfarb) I’ll just see her down 
the road a bit, papa. Meanwhile, ponder it well, sir. 
(Waves him an adieu.) 

(Exeunt Natalya and Rosalie through the pas¬ 
sage leading to the street.) 

Sol. Is. : What a wonder-working magician the human 
heart can be, if only itself is pure and loving, and undis¬ 
turbed and not embittered. The dear child; the very law 
of supply and demand, she re-edits into a lever of salvation. 
Only apply it properly. Pro-op-oper-ly ? You innocent 
child. Your studies in economics have profited you but 
little. Oh, she knows all about it; no vexing questions for 
her. In the gladness of her youth she is proof against them 
all. (Contemplating the things on the table.) A shawl, 


24 


A Russian Shylock. 


stockings, needles, soap, salves, even ribbons, even tobacco 
and a pouch. To be sure, the poor need luxuries as well. 
And what is this ? Ah, a New Testament. A Jewish prayer- 
book. Edification and solace for the soul. Woe’s me, we all 
need this; poor and rich alike. And what are these? 
A B C’s. Reading books. An arithmetic—food for the 
mind. Nothing wanting. All things for all men. So clear, 
so plain. My dear, dear child. I envy you. That’s good. 
A father envying his own child. Envious of his own happi¬ 
ness. The Talmud says- 

(Enters Esther through the door on the porch.) 

Esther: (In a Hurry) I ask you, Solomon, must I go 
mad? What shall we do? What can we do? Hardly had 
she opened her eyes, give her a letter. She must have a 
letter. Order one at the post-office for hen 

Sol. Is. : Gently, sister, gently. You only grieve mother 
the more. 

Esther : Then you speak to her. I have no more pa¬ 
tience. “Have you slept well?” I ask. “Are you rested?” 
I try to speak of this and that—it’s of no use. She must 
have a letter. As though I would not gladly give half my 
life to get a letter from him. As though mine were a heart 
of stone, and I did not feel our misfortune. 

Sol. Is. : There, there, now, Esther. Can’t you have a 
little more patience ? Hush. I see mother coming. Hush. 

(Enter Miriam through the same door.) 

Miriam: ( With gentle reproach) Ai-ai-ai, Esther. 
Must you grieve Solomon too ? I really did not mean to vex 
you. I only asked for the letter. It has been due these five 
weeks. What harm have I done, my children ? 

Sol. Is.: Believe me, mother, there is no letter, 



A Russian Shylock. 


-5 


Miriam: How can that be? Oh, something has hap¬ 
pened to my poor boy. 

Sol. Is. : Nothing has happened to David, believe me, 
mother. 

(Enters Masha.) 

(She comes through the door on the servants 
porch. Busies herself with packing away the things 
into the trunk; when through, she locks it up.) 

Miriam: How do you know? Oh, there is a letter. 
You have read it. There is bad news. You only want to 
spare me, I know. ( Wringing her hands.) Be a good son, 
Solomon; take pity on your mother. 

Sol. Is. : Upon my word, mother, I tell you the truth. 
There is absolutely—that is (in explanation of the tall word 
(< absolutely”) there is really no cause for anxiety—really 
none. The Siberian mail has not arrived; that’s all. If any¬ 
thing did happen, it must have been some accident to the 
carriers on the road. 

Miriam: Not to my Dovidel? 

Sol. Is. : Of course not. Why should you at all enter¬ 
tain these gloomy thoughts? 

Miriam : May Heaven hear you, my son. 

Sol. Is. : Try not to think of it, mother. I promise you, 
the first thing in the morning, to send a special messenger 
to town, to make inquiries at the post-office. But you must 
promise me in return to be reasonable. Suppose there is 
no letter-- 

Miriam ) Be it not uttered in an evil hour! 

and > Be it not uttered in an evil hour! Did you 

Esther : ) ever hear a person speak so thoughtlessly? 

Sol. Is.: -what then? Such things happen. You 




26 


A Russian Shylocic. 


yourself know the irregularity of the post, especially of the 
Siberian line. 

Miriam : But you will send a messenger? 

Sol. Is.: I have promised you, mother. 

Masha: (To Esther) Here is the key, ma-am; or shall 
I keep it? 

Esther : Keep it. Don’t bother me. 

(Exit Masha.) 

Miriam : Send old Ivan the Grumbler. He is trust¬ 
worthy. 

Esther: The old fool? Anybody would do the errand 
better. He won’t be back in a year, I tell you. The slow, 
crawling crab. I’ll send Moysheh instead. He’ll get there 
like wild-fire—in a minute. 

Sol. Is. : Are you satisfied now, mother ? 

Miriam : You are kind, Solomon. Esther, first thing 
in the morning. Don’t forget. Of course, it’s so. Simply 
the mail has not arrived. Couldn’t you (to Esther) have 
said as much? You have given me new hope, my son. Ah, 
where is the child? 

Sol. Is. : Natalya Osipovna was to see her. 

Miriam: Eh? The Major’s daughter. 

Sol. Is. : (Nodding in reply). 

Esther: So, she was here? When? Did she stay 
long? And where was I, pray? By way of surprise, we 
have a caller once in a great while, and I am sure to miss 
her. What was her hurry, I wonder. Couldn’t you detain 
her? It’s a pleasure to speak to her. 

Sol. Is.: You will have a better chance another time. 

Esther: Much do you care. “Another time,” indeed. 
And I tell you, Solomon, people will soon stop calling on us 


A Russian Siiylock. 


27 


altogether. That’s the kind of a father he is. Shuts up his 
own child, as a miser his money, and thinks he is doing his 
duty. 

Miriam : Be reasonable, Esther. 

Esther: Yes, “be reasonable.” Why isn’t he reason¬ 
able ? Did you ever hear the like of it! “A child must not 
be interfered with!” Only “reason with her!” Oh-oh-oh. 
Were Sarahleh alive—may she rest in peace!—she would 
know what is due to us in our social station in life. Poor 
Rosalie. A child must be directed, guided, taught to obey. 
“Reason with her!” Poor, motherless Rosalie! 

(Miriam and Esther sigh.) 

(A fumbling at the gate is heard, and is followed 
by a hard fit of suppressed coughing. All three look 
up in surprise.) 

Esther: Masha! Bella! Sarah! A houseful of serv¬ 
ants and none within call. 

Sol. Is. : Who may that be ? 

Esther : Some beggar, surely. As if they don’t get 
enough on Fridays. 

Miriam : Perhaps it is one of Rosalie’s poor. The 
child will be grieved to learn that one such was refused 
admission. See, Solomon, who is at the gate. 

Sol. Is.: (At the gate) Whom do you wish to see, Rab’ 
neighbor? Me? 

(Another fit of coughing is heard.) 

Sol. Is.: (In kindlier tones, while opening the gate) 
Come in. Rest a while. Don’t fear. You are among Jews. 

(An old mans voice) : May God prolong your life! 

Sol. Is. : Come in, come in, Rab’ neighbor 


28 


A Russian Shylock. 


(Enters Mordecai.) 

(He is very old and leans on his cane for sup¬ 
port. He is dressed in the fashion of the poorer class 
of the religious Jews, in a long coat, his Sabbath best ; 
a big, red checkered handkerchief protrudes from the 
hip-pocket of his coat. He wears the usual Russian 
cap, with a big top and big black peak; under this a 
shabby skull-cap. His walking cane is of cheap man¬ 
ufacture. As he steps in, he bows respectfully several 
times. Solomon Isaacovich shuts the gate.) 

Mord. : May Heaven prosper you, Rabbi Solomon. The 
richest merchant in town, and wise student of the Law— 
and himself opened the gate for a poor old man. May the 
Gate of Heaven be opened unto you as readily at the close 
of a long, and prosperous, and happy life! (A fit of cough¬ 
ing of lesser duration and violence.) 

Esther and Miriam: (Softly) Amen! 

Sol. Is. : (Offering him a chair) Be seated, Rab’ neigh¬ 
bor, and tell me what brings you here. 

Mord. : (Bowing, but refusing the offered chair) I did 
not mean to disturb you, Rah’ Solomon. I really did not. 
I was waiting at the gate for somebody to come out. Only 
that bad cough, a whiff of wind raised the dust, and I 
had to catch at something for support, and the gate shook. 
But I didn’t mean to disturb you. I could wait. Don’t be 
angry with me. Please, Rab’ Solomon. 

Sol. Is. : Oh, no, no. Heaven forbid, I am not at all 
angry. I am ready to listen to you. 

Mord. : May Heaven bless you. (Noticing the women, 
he takes off his top-cap; remains in his skull-cap, and bows 


A Russian Shylock. 


29 


to the ladies, low and respectfully.) Woe is me! What have 
I come to! I am no beggar. 

Sol. Is. : ( Encouragingly ) I have not taken you for 

one. 

Mord. : For as it is written: “In the sweat of thy brow 
thou shalt eat thy bread.” 

Sol. Is. : Certainly. And what is your occupation ? 

Mord. : A tailor, Rab’ Solomon. Mordecai the tailor. 
The very infants of the neighborhood know me. You 
don’t know me. But I know you. He-he-he! ( Laughs 
softly and with satisfaction.) As who does not know Rab’ 
Shloymeleh, Solomon Isaacovich Herzfarb, the richest mer¬ 
chant in Ensk. ( Declaiming, as if giving hint a formal in¬ 
troduction.) 

Sol. Is. : I wish I knew myself. 

Mord. : But I can’t work much now So help me God, 
I can’t. My working days have passed. So help me God, 
they have. I may swear it to you. By my children and 
children’s children, I swear it. I speak the truth. Believe 
me, Rab’ Solomon, believe me. ( Coughs a little.) 

Sol. Is.: (Amazed) Why! Why! my good man. I 
do not doubt you at all. 

Mord. : ( With a sigh of relief) For aren’t you a Jew, 
yourself? And one Jew feels for another—be they ever so 
far apart, the “Sons Merciful.” 

Esther: (To Solomon) One of Rosalie’s poor, I guess. 

Sol. Is. : No. 

Esther: No? What does he want, then? 

Mord. : (Bows again). 

Sol. Is. : He has come to me. 

Mord. : Not to beg, madame, not to beg. Only to bor- 


30 


A Russian Shylock. 


row a little money. To borrow, not to beg. With God’s 
help, I shall pay it back, little by little. 

Sol. Is.: (Smiles). 

Esther: (Laughs outright, but good-naturedly ) And 
on what pledge, pray, shall you be advanced the money? 
Upon the pawn of your walking cane, perhaps ? Ha-ha-ha ! 
That’s fine! Go now into the banking business, Solomon 
—and God speed you. You will have fine customers. 

Mord. : (In dismay to Solomon) Woe is me. The lady 
—may she be spared all worriment—may indeed laugh. I 
have no better pledge to offer than this here cane. (Grasp¬ 
ing the cane more firmly and resting on it more heavily, with 
head bent low, sighs deeply, in utter dejection.) All else is 
in the pawn shop. 

Miriam : (Reproachfully) Ai-ai-ai, Esther. 

Sol. Is. : Nor could you part from it (pointing at the 
cane), I fear. 

(A pause. Esther, a little confused, fumbles 
aimlessly with her fingers. Miriam looks expectantly 
at Solomon, who gazes fixedly at the staff as if some 
evasive idea is unsuccessfully struggling into his con¬ 
sciousness.) 

Sol. Is. : And would you, my good sister (still gazing at 
the cane), take from an old man his staff? 

Esther: Gracious now. Just look at them! What a 
tumult about a word said in jest. 

Sol. Is. : But would you ? 

Esther : '‘Would you ?” “Would you ?’’ What do you 

~ ~ * 

take me for ? Am I a godless heathen of a Christian to de¬ 
prive an old man of his last support, his only comfort? 


A Russian Shylock. 




(Another pause. Miriam is still watching Solo¬ 
mon. Esther, having risen from her seat, looks an¬ 
grily at the old man as the cause of her displeasure, 
hut relents gradually. Mordecai, frightened by the 
little scene, trembles in apprehension of the disastrous 
effect that it may have upon the purpose of his visit. 
Solomon Isaacovich starts at the word “comfort,” as 
if suddenly azvakened, looks up, gazes at Esther with 
intense expectation, as if hoping to intercept on her 
face the evasive idea, arid then, swayed by a sudden 
rush of thought, he starts to move about the stage, 
hut checks himself after a fezv steps.) 

Sol. Is. : Oh ! (Shakes his head slozvly, then quoting) 
“Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of 
death, I will fear no evil; for thou art with me; thy rod and 
thy staff, they comfort me.” {Pause. He is obviously sat¬ 
isfied with having caught the evasive idea; smiles, but con¬ 
tinues absorbed in thought.) Verily, “Thy rod and thy staff, 
they comfort me.” (Pause.) Strange, that I should think 
of this now. Oh, I see. Our friends, the Christians, have 
taken from us both the “rod” and the “staff.” What have 
they given us in return? Nothing. Nothing at all. Only 
that ? Ah ! confound it. The Bible and politics; what have 
these in common? (Shrugs his shoulders in disgust; then 
returns resolutely to the conversation.) 

Esther : Really, Solomon, I meant no harm. 

Sol. Is. : Of course not, my good Esther. Don’t mind 
my walking a bit. 

Esther : And brooding. 

Sol. Is. : And brooding. 


32 


A Russian Shylock. 


Esther : And being troubled. Ah, you have been this 
way ever since the morning. Have I no eyes to see with ? 

Miriam : (Anxiously and hurriedly) What do you say? 
Why are you troubled, my son ? Why ? 

Sol. Is. : ( Impatiently and rather annoyed) Oh, noth¬ 
ing, mother. It is indeed nothing; only a bit of holy scrip¬ 
ture—really nothing worse. 

Miriam: (Incredulous) Holy Scripture? 

Sol. Is. : Well, mother, you see our sages explain that 
the sacred law is to the pious as the walking-cane to the 
weary wanderer, a support and comfort. And I just hap¬ 
pened to think of it. 

Miriam : Yes, my son. Blessed be our sages—their 
memories for a blessing! Solomon (beckoning to him to 
approach). 

Sol. Is. : Yes, mother. 

Miriam: (Whispering into his ear) Be kind to this 
poor man for Dovidel’s sake. Help him, if you can. 

Sol. Is. : Certainly. Well, Rah’ Mordecai, let us talk 
business. Name your sum, and if it is not too large, and 
you agree to all my terms—I am very exacting, Mister Mor¬ 
decai—you shall have the money, if only to prove that a Jew 
must needs be a usurer, as the Messrs. Anti-Semites claim. 
I mean (in explanation of the foreign-sounding terms) that 
the enemies of Israel say that we are money lenders. If, 
however, a Jew dies without ever having been a usurer— 
well, well—that only goes to prove that a Jew will do any¬ 
thing to disconcert a Christian. 

Mord. : ( Beaming, gives vent to his gratitude, with a 
plunge) Oh, may the Almighty Father in Heaven bless you, 
and all that are dear to you. May he gladden you with his 


A Russian Shylock. 


33 


favors as you have gladdened my heart. Didn't I know it 
would end thus—in joy and gladness. My heart kept on 
urging me. “Appeal to Rab' Shloymeleh, appeal to him. 
They are a Jewish family. They have Jewish hearts. They 
won't refuse,” it said, my heart said, and I, the old fool, 
wouldn't believe it. My own heart I doubted. But the voice 
within me, the blessed voice, kept on urging me, “Go!” and 
“GO!” And I went, but I kept it all to myself, lest they 
laugh me to scorn and call me fool in my old age. And here 
I am, and entreat you. Have pity! ( Overcomes an ap¬ 
proaching fit of coughing.) Have pity upon a helpless old 
man. May Heaven- {coughs). 

Sol. Is. : But, my good man, tell us first what is your 
trouble, and how much you need. Be composed and speak 
quietly. 

Mord. : This I will—may God bless you!—this I will. 
To begin, then, at the beginning, when the Blow struck 
us- 

Sol. Is. : You mean the Decision of the Senate? 

Mord. : The same; the ukase—may the memory of it 
be wiped off the face of the earth! 

Sol. Is. : Tut-tut-tut, my good Rab' Mordecai! You 
must be grateful. They mean it all in parental kindness, in 
Christian love. 

Mord. : ( Fervently) Mayest thou, sweet Father in 
Heaven, receive them in like kindness and with like love, 
the godless heathens! May their lives be as embittered and 
as blasted as they have embittered and blasted ours. 

Sol. Is. : Beware, Rab’ Mordecai, one must obey the 
laws. 

Mord. : Ah, Rab’ Shloymeleh, it is easy enough for you 




34 


A Russian Shylock. 


to speak thus—may yours, barring its drawbacks, be the 
allotted portion of all the children in Israel. You can afford 
a round, fat heap of coins, and shove it into his grabbing 
paw, and the godless dog of a chief is yours. Plain sailing! 
But I am a poor man. Oh, mock me not in my misery, 
please. 

Sol. Is. : You are right, Rab’ Mordecai. My mocking 
you is as sinful as it is out of place. But I was mocking 
myself as well. For, am I not a Jew, as well as you? And 
“All Jews are brethren” has not been said in vain—at least 
not for me. As it stands written—you are read some in 
the “minute print,” aren’t you?— “I also, oh Lord, here am 
I-” 

Sol. Is. and Mord. : (Finishing together) “I answer 
if thou callest to me.” 

Sol. Is.: But what has the ukase to do with you? 
Surely, you own no “factories, mills, shops, or other such¬ 
like manufacturing establishments." Or have your tailor’s 
bench and needle and thread suddenly grown to a factory? 

Mord. : As if his vulture eyes—may they burst out of 
their sockets!—could overlook even a pin in a crevice, the 
dog of a district chief! Still he is a loggerhead, the hea¬ 
thenish pig. How nicely have I got round him. He de¬ 
manded five rubles down, and a ruble and a half a month. 
But I haggled and haggled. “I cannot work, your worship 
of noble birth,” I pleaded. He wouldn’t listen to me; he 
wouldn’t believe me. “You lie, you lazy Jew!” he swore and 
cursed. But in the end he had to accept only three, may 
he be choked, the dog among dogs. 

Sol. Is. : So, he did accept the bribe? 

Mord. : Oh, he is not as insatiable as others. He is rea- 



A Russian Siiylock. 


35 


sonable. He will curse a little, call you this and that, or 
strike one a bit—never in the face, though, only in the chest 
—but he is reasonable, unless, of course, one shows him 
disrespect. 

Sol. Is. : And your needle and thread shall henceforth 

not be considered a factory, nor a mill, nor a-. Oh, Rab’ 

Mordecai, I am really not mocking you- 

Mord. : Ai, ai! I should not mind if you did. I have 
to pay him a ruble and a half a month—and times are bad 
enough, as it is. Everybody is being chased out. Oh, the 
accursed ukase. People will be ruined. Homes will be 
broken up. The well-to-do of to-day will be the beggars 
to-morrow. And they will fight and struggle and choke as 
the fish out of the water, and they will tear the crumbs from 
one another’s mouth; from the mouths of their fellow-men 
will they tear it. 

(Miriam and Esther sigh.) 

Sol. Is. : How long, oh Lord, how long! 

Mord. : And where will I get my bread now ? The place 
deserted; my kind neighbors gone. Here have I lived; from 
here I hoped to go when my time came. 

Sol. Is. : For pity’s sake, let us talk business. You have 
paid the three rubles yourself, I understand. 

Mord. : Yes, Rab’ Shloymeleh. Took some pillows and 
clothes to the pawn shop, and paid. 

Sol. Is. : Now you want me to pay your district chief 
the ruble and a half a month? 

Esther: ( Indignant ) And will you do that, Solomon? 
Oh, the grabbing vulture! The insatiable leech! I tell you 
that rascally brigand must be denounced. If you are man 
at all, you must interfere. 




3^ 


A Russian Shylock. 


Sol. Is. Oh, Esther, 

and ( Together) 

Mord. : Oh, madame! {In despair and 

wringing his hands.) 

{Solomon Isaacovich shakes with painful agifa¬ 
ta tion; he looks ghastly.) 

Miriam : God be with you, my son. 

and {Together) 

Esther : Good heavens, Solomon, what is 

the matter? 

Sol. Is. : {Recovering) Nothing, nothing. Nothing at 
all. Only nervousness. 

Esther: Nervousness? Why, brother, you tremble; 
you look frightened. What is it? 

Sol. Is. : As yourself say, fright; that’s it. It’s cow¬ 
ardice, Esther, cowardice. 

Esther: But what are you afraid of? What have I 
said to frighten you ? 

Sol. Is.: {Rather impatient and annoyed) But it’s 
nothing, I tell you. I am nervous; that’s all. Simply ner¬ 
vous. 

Miriam: My good son—may Heaven protect you!— 
why not be frank with us? If you are loath to denounce 
that heathen—why, don’t. 

Sol. Is. : {More annoyed) Oh, mother, I am a bit too 
nervous, perhaps. That’s all. 

Miriam : {Shakes her head). 

Sol. Is. : {Rather sharply, because of the growing an¬ 
noyance and impatience) Now, what do you two want of 
me? Now—now—imagine, one is all alone, all alone—in 
a dark cellar, with no human soul around—then the slightest 


A Russian Shylock. 


37 


noise, the most insignificant thing, will be enough to startle 
one. The usual thing. 

Esther : But you were not all alone; nor in a dark- 

Sol. Is. : But don’t I tell you I am too nervous! Un¬ 
derstand, too nervous. Ah, leave it to me. I’ll do all I can 
for this poor man, and have done with it. 

Esther: ( Angrily ) Come into the house, mother. He 
is always that way. Gets ruffled before you know it. 

Miriam : Perhaps it’s his business troubles. 

(Exeunt Miriam and Esther. They go into the house.') 

Mord. : Oh, Rab’ Shloymeleh, let him hang that rascal; 
why should you bother about him ? Let the dog well alone. 

Sol. Is. : ( Sharply ) What’s that to you? 

Mord. : ( Astonished ) Why, Rab’ Shloymeleh Herz- 
farb, with your leave, you talk as if you were a heathen, 
not at all a Jew—be it not said to offend you. 

Sol. Is. : Oh, I see. If I denounce that rascal, the rest 
will be scared like so many rats, and won’t accept bribes ? 

Mord. : And then where shall we be? Merciful Heaven, 
you’ll ruin the very few families that were lucky enough to 
escape. Are you a (spitting energetically) heathen of a 
Christian, be it not mentioned to offend you. 

Sol. Is. : ( Patronizingly, in his superior wisdom) Fear 
not, aged one; fear not. These representatives of the law 
will never refuse a bribe—never! 

Mord. : But they will exact*twice, three times as much. 
And we shall be ruined; be it not uttered in an evil hour. 

Sol. Is. : Oh, is that it? Yes, yes; I see now. 

Mord. : Woe is me. The Jew is in the Captivity. We 
must lie low, and be patient and suffer. 

Sol. Is. : “We must lie low and suffer.” Esther says 



38 


A Russian Shylock. 


I am no man at all if I don't interfere. You advise, “Lie low 
and suffer!” And she a Jewess; you, a Jew, and I, a Jew. 
What a tangle! Verily, it is the blind leading the blind. 
( With sudden impatience.) Ah, but you are taking up too 
much of my time. What do you want me to do for you? 
Pay that ruble and a half monthly bribe for how long? Half 
a year? a year ? 

Mord. : ( Frightened , and bowing) Forgive me, Rab'— 

Sol. Is. : Speak to the point. 

Mord. : I can pay that myself, God willing, I'll 
work- 

Sol. Is. : ( A little quieter) What do you want, then? 

Mord. : Woe is me. I am to be expelled altogether. 

Sol. Is. : ( Astonished and interested) You? How so? 

Mord. : ( Encouraged, yet with diffidence) May it please 
you—they read it at the synagogue—I mean, the clause about 
the age. 

Sol. Is. : I have read that myself. Surely you are above 
sixty. You are exempt. They cannot molest you. 

Mord. : ( Sorrowfully ) I am only fifty-nine. I’ll be 
sixty, God granting it, next Passover. 

Sol. Is. : Poor man. Poor old man. The ukase is ex¬ 
plicit on that point. 

Mord. : Oh, Rab' Shloymeleh Herzfarb. Be your heart 
softened with pity for an old man. I’ll pay it back, so help 
me God. Little by little will I pay it. 

Sol. Is. : I am sorry, my poor man. But bribing your 
district chief won’t help you any; he is but a subordinate. 

Mord. : His very words, may it please you. But he 
gave me the hint. “It must go higher,” he said. “Twenty- 
five rubles,” he said. At first he wanted fifty; then forty, 



A Russian Shylock. 


39 


thirty—but would not budge from five and twenty. 
“Couldn’t do it for less,” he said; “upon his word of honor, 
as a nobleman,” he said; “not a kopeck less!” 

Sol. Is. : Certainly, certainly. It must go higher, and 
twenty-five rubles is quite reasonable—cheap, in fact 

Mord. : ( Waving his arms, in despair) Where is one 
to get such a sum ? Such a sum ! 

Sol. Is. : Business must be brisk with these gentlemen; 
they must be having good times. So you want me to pay 
the bribe for you ? A bribe ? 

Mord. : ( Imploringly ) Oh, do so much for charity. 

Sol. Is.: ( Trying to recollect something) Do—so— 
much—for—charity. Why, man, the phrase sounds famil¬ 
iar. Here, now ( scrutinizing Mordecai) . Though not yet 
a Shylock, am I already provided with a Portia? Madame 
Fate is quite humorous, upon my word. ( Noticing Morde- 
cai's puzzled yet anxious look) Oh, never mind me, aged 
one. That’s a little joke, as is not written in the Bible or 
in the Talmud, or in any other Jewish book, for that matter. 
So you want me “to do so much for charity” ? 

Mord.: Oh! (In mute entreaty.) 

Sol. Is. : But that’s a bribe, not charity. 

Mord. : Oh, save me! Save me! Don’t let an aged man 
be cast out of his nest. Where shall I drag my old bones 
now? Can I start life anew, at my age? Oh, have pity! 
What is twenty-five rubles to you ? Heaven will repay you 
a hundredfold. On the Day of Judgment will it be thrown 


40 


A Russian Shylock. 


into the scale in your favor. Have mercy! God bless you. 
It will be accounted you a virtue, and if my poor sinning 
soul be deemed worthy I shall appear before the Heavenly 
Judge in your favor and testify to the deed. I swear it. 

Sol. Is. : Compose yourself, my good neighbor. If this 
bribe can help you, it shall. Here (giving him a card upon 
which he writes first a few words ) take this to the office to¬ 
morrow and ask for Mr. Fishel. Will you remember, Mr. 
Fishel ? 

(Mordecai tries to kiss Solomon's hand as he 
takes the card.) 

Sol. Is. : No, no, no, Rab’ Mordecai. This is not at all 
necessary. Leave me now, please. There is the gate; it isn’t 
locked. 

Mord. : May Heaven- 

Sol. Is. : Go now. Please, go; and may Heaven prosper 

you. 

Mord. : (Retreats towards the gate, smiling and bowing; 
then at the gate ) “HI pay it back, so help me God.” 

(Exit Mordecai.) 

Sol. Is.: (Shrugs his shoulders) A bribe? Charity? 
(Shrugs his shoulders a second time.) “It will be accounted 
a virtue.” Flere we call it corrupting the officials—the inno¬ 
cent lambs—and there (looking heavenward) a virtue. 
Why not ? What do they up there know about politics, any¬ 
way? Here, at least, we have the Decision of the Senate, 
the regulations, the ukase—we read them and know exactly 
what is expected of us. And there ? Oh, God of Abraham 



A Russian Shylock. 


4i 


and Isaac and Jacob, where is Thy Ukase? Where? Deign 
to let us see it, to understand it. But “the ways of Provi¬ 
dence are inscrutable.’’ (Shrugs his shoulders.) Well, if 
they are inscrutable, then it is useless to wear out one’s 
brains; useless to bother and worry. Be a pig, fill your belly, 
and grunt to your satisfaction. A glorious mission worthy 
of God’s own chosen people. But there must be some an¬ 
swer, some solution. It cannot be otherwise. “Search and 
thou shalt find.” Find? Find what? What? What? 


(Curtain.) 


ACT II. 


(A well appointed library in the town residence 
of the Herzfarbs. In the background a door leads 
into the ante-room and thence to the street. On the 
right, two doors leading to the rooms of Rosalie, 
Miriam, etc.; on the left, a door to the dining room, 
kitchen, etc. In the same wall, further back, an old- 
fashioned Russian fireplace (with no mantle-piece); 
leaning against its little iron door are tongs, a poker, 
etc. On the walls, a number of portraits of renowned 
statesmen, scientists, philosophers, mostly lewish. 
Books in good bindings on shelves behind glass doors; 
also, books in cheaper bindings, pamphlets, magazines, 
etc., on open shelves. Plenty of indications that the 
books are actually in use. A sofa, a desk, two tables 
—one much smaller and of cheaper make than the 
other—and a number of armchairs; also, a solid, plain 
wooden chair, on three legs, serves instead of a ladder 
to reach the top shelves.) 

Sol. Is.: (Examining his black silk skull-cap) Plainly 
the long and short of it is, “Love thy neighbor as thyself.” 
H’m! H’m! (Puts on his skull-cap.) Yes, of course. As 
a commercial proposition, it is very sensible—very. As a 
principle of policy to guide the statesman—why, it is simply 
excellent: as witness our most modern fortresses and battle¬ 
ships, armies and navies for gentle emissaries of that neigh¬ 
borly love, with their cannon and projectiles to accentuate 



A Russian Shylock. 


43 


its endearments. . . . Upon my word, the Old Testa¬ 

ment wasn't at all framed after modern business. The idea! 
To carry in stock an article nobody wants. Utterly un- 
Jewish, isn’t it? And you, oh! great Hillel Ha-Zaken, 
saintly sage in Israel, you understood that. To correct the 
defect, you lowered the standard, and taught us that “What¬ 
ever is hateful to thee, do not unto thy fellow-men.” Exactly. 
The nearer to earth, the further from heaven. To increase 
the demand you cheapened the goods. Quite reasonable. 
Like a practical Jew you cut the pattern to fit us, instead of 
trying to make us fit the pattern. Accordingly, you under¬ 
took to teach man the Law, all the sacred Law, in as short a 
time as one could stand on one leg. An unparalleled audacity 
verging on impiety, since to strip truth naked one needs 
courage. Yet you succeeded—which was genius. The Ten 
Commandments with their six hundred and thirteen accom¬ 
paniments you managed to focus in this one center of daz¬ 
zling light—which was both genius and wisdom; the genius 
of man and the wisdom of the Jew; for he who is continually 
on the march must have his treasures in a nut-shell to have 
them handy for hurried packing. Reasonable, practical, and, 
above all, businesslike. Still, the unadultered, genuine article 
is, doubtlessly, “Love thy neighbor as thyself.” Certainly. 
Certainly. Only, who is thy neighbor? who, thyself? As 
to love—what is that, who can tell ? Three stumbling blocks 
of perplexity in this one so innocent-looking bit of plainest 
doctrine! Obviously, this flesh, these bones, these perishable 
fetters of the spirit are not I. Any thirteen-year old school¬ 
boy knows as much. Not the body, but the soul; not the 
beast in me, the man in me is I. My mind, my heart, my 
deeds, my honor—in a word, my manhood is I. The divine 


44 


A Russian Shylock. 


spark in me is I. Well and good. Now comes along my 
neighbor—say, his Excellency of high birth, the Governor 
General himself—another spark, and, unquestionably, as 
divine as mine—and gets the administrative fit. To save the 
empire he tackles philology, and by special ukase ordains 
that I, a born Jew, shall not be called by my own name, a 
name that my forefathers, for generations and generations 
back, had borne before me, and insists, in spite of the Bible 
and good grammar, that Solomon is Shloymka, all of which 
he does partly out of sheer ugliness and partly to squeeze the 
Jew for a few extra rubles. To see the Jew insulted, humili¬ 
ated, prostrated in the mud, does him good. The divine 
spark that is in him is thereby fanned into self-admiration. 
Is he my neighbor? He? He, that has more affection for 
my Jewish pocket than for his Jewish god? (Shrugs his 
shoulders.) But “love thy neighbor” thou must, though 
thou burst! Oh, confound it! Why should I at all bother 
about such insipid stupidities? Am I a beardless lad in 
the first flush of his youth that I must needs lay out the 
righteous path for myself and the world to follow? Burn¬ 
ing questions at forty-six, when my hair is turning gray! 
(Shrugs his shoulders.) What a delicious fool I am! I 
simply hate myself!—That’s it. In my present mode, I can 
say truly that I love His Excellency the Governor General 
and his entire tribe of savage persecutors exactly as I love 
myself. Thus, the great, fundamental Law is satisfied, 
obeyed, and upheld, and I ought to be happy. Deep philoso¬ 
phy ! Admirable results! Oh, how tiresome it all is! How 
tiresome! (Sighs.) 


A Russian Shylock. 


45 


(Enters Phincas Abraamovich.) 

(He takes off his silk hat and looks for a place 
where to put it.) 

Phin. Ab. : I thought at first you were asleep or poring 
over your books. But then I heard you move about. Esther 
told me you were here. Why? What’s the matter? Won’t 
you shake hands with me? 

Sol. Is.: You, Phineas? Glad to see you. 

Phin. Ab. : You don’t look it, though. Upon my word, 
Solomon, you make me indeed feel that “An unbidden guest 
is worse than a Tartar.” 

Sol. Is. : I am glad to see you, old man. ( Shakes hands 
until him and pushes him into a chair.) 

Pit in. Ab. : That’s better; that’s the way to behave. I 
won’t ask any questions, for don’t I know you well enough 
for that ? But you did greet me at first—guess how ? 

Sol. Is. : (Trying to smile) How? 

Phin. Ab. : As if I were a ghost. 

Sol. Is. : (Smiling faintly) That’s too general. Particu¬ 
larize a bit. 

Phin. Ab. : And a bad ghost at that. 

Sol. Is. : Still too vague. 

Phin. Ab. : As the ghost of an official who wanted more. 

Sol. Is. : Say, rather, who wanted all, and you will have 
made a pretty close guess. Yes, that’s about the size of it. 
But why talk of ghosts? 

Phin. Ab. : I don’t look much like one, do I? The 
worms—keep your cigar, you heretic; it’s the Sabbath— 
they won’t be much famished, the worms, when I am at last 
out of harness and packed away for good. 


46 


A Russian Shylock. 


Sol. Is. : Eh, my dear Phineas, at times I wish I were 
out of harness myself. However- 

Phin. Ab. : You, Solomon? You? 

Sol. Is. : Why not? 

Phin. Ab. : Why yes? 

Sol. Is. : Because, well, because I am tired. Understand, 
simply tired. Isn’t that reason enough? 

Phin. Ab. : You tired? You? Tired of what? Of life? 
You? 

Sol. Is. : Not exactly of life. But—ah, let us talk of 
something else. 

Phin. Ab. : But what? 

Sol. Is. : Oh, never mind. 

Phin. Ab. : Still? 

Sol. Is.: What’s the use, Phineas? You cannot help 
me. 

Phin. Ab. : Look here, Solomon, what yarn, excuse me, 
are you weaving? Surely you are not in earnest. 

Sol. Is. : Thank Heaven, man. That I am not—or I 
would not talk. 

Phin. Ab. : That’s better, old man; that’s better. But 
you do talk. What’s the trouble, then? 

Sol. Is. : You will again call me heretic. 

Phin. Ab. : I should have known as much. Ah, Solo¬ 
mon, take the advice of an old friend and let these thoughts 
alone. 

Sol. Is. : But they wont’t let me alone, man. That’s 
where the joke comes in. 

Phin. Ab. : Read the Bible, study our holy books. 

Sol. Is. : That’s what I do, my good friend. That’s ex¬ 
actly what I do. For instance, is it not written “An eye for 




A Russian Shylock. 


47 


an eye, a tooth for a tooth'’ ? And being good business men, 
ought we not to improve upon the precept and look for 
profit ? 

Phin. Ab. : May His mercy save us. Hold your peace, 
you scoffer. 

Sol. Is. : ( Smiling ) Now, Phineas, this is not fair. You 
have insisted I should speak; now you must hear me out. 

Phin. Ab. : Then, don’t joke. 

Sol. Is. : Nor do I. It’s Heaven that is joking, not I. 

Phin. Ab. : Again! ( Claps his hands to his ears, half 
in earnest, half in assumed horror.) 

Sol. Is. : Also, “Love thy neighbor as thyself” is not bad 
doctrine, either. 

Phin. Ab. : It’s all the Law, all the Law. As it’s writ¬ 
ten— 

Sol. Is. : Precisely, my good Plrneas, precisely. Now 
you only have to make your choice. Which? ( Holds out 
to him both his hands closed, as if in the act of tossing up 
in a game of chance.) 

Phin. Ab. : ( Puzzled) Which? 

Sol. Is. : Even so. Shall it be “A tooth for a tooth" ? 
or—“Love thy neighbor” ? 

Phin. Ab. : H’m . . . h’m . . . But—h’m— 
h’m—one must dig deeper, so to speak; go to the very root. 

Sol. Is.: I try my best. 

Phin. Ab. : I mean you must not read as it is written. 

Sol. Is. : Eh, beware. Now you are the heretic. 

Phin. Ab. : I a heretic! Please, Solomon, let me be. 
I have enough to worry me. 

Sol. Is. : ( Smiling ) But you are my friend. I only try 
to love you as myself. Pleaven has hurled at us this delicious 



A Russian Shylock. 


48 

combination of neighborly love and tooth-pulling—a huge 
joke, eh—and I enjoy it immensely, so I try to let you have 
your share of the fun. 

Phin. Ab. : Very much obliged, I am sure. I am not 
a preacher looking for a text. Not I, thank you. I am a 
plain man and act according to my lights. I give to the 
hospital, to the “Shelter of the Stranger/' the “Aid of the 
Needy,” the “School of the Law”; as much as it has pleased 
the One-on-High to put in my power to give, I give—un¬ 
grudgingly. What else do you want of me? I certainly 
cannot give as much as you. 

Sol. Is. : Come, now, my good Phineas. Don’t take it 
so seriously. I have hurt you, I fear. 

Phin. Ab. : I am as good a Jew as any; am a member 
of the synagogue and pay what’s coming from me. I cheat 
nobody, rob nobody. I attend to my business and obey the 
Law. 

Sol. Is. : From my very heart I wish I knew how to ob¬ 
serve the Law. 

Phin. Ab. : Eh, Solomon, beware. No good, I tell you, 
will ever come of your—hm—hm—your- 

Sol. Is.: Folly? Say so frankly. In this, I fear, you 
are right. {Pause; then thoughtfully ) I live too much by 
myself; forever alone with my thoughts. 

Phin. Ab. : It’s your own fault. You are not a sociable 
being—that’s what’s the matter with you. 

Sol. Is. : Not so, not so. I like the society of men, even 
of children. But—here you are—you have called, and right 
glad I am to see you and I could only hurt you for your 
pains. 

Phin. Ab. : Tut-tut-tut. Hurt me! I won’t cry much, 



A Russian Shylock. 


49 


not even to please you. But I am a horse of a different 
color. We must quarrel, you and I. You must have your 
laugh at me. 

Sol. Is. : Phineas. 

Phin. Ab. : I don’t mind it, either; have known you long 
enough, I suppose. None readier to help a fellow out of a 
hole, but you must have your laugh. 

Sol. Is. : I was not always thus, Phineas. 

Phin. Ab. : That’s true, that’s true. (Shakes his head 
slowly; then , thoughtfully and sadly) Fifteen years, Solo¬ 
mon ? 

Sol. Is. : Sixteen, next Passover. 

Phin. Ab. : How quickly time passes! We were young 
then. Ah, Solomon, can’t you stop thinking of that? What 
the earth has covered shall be forgotten. 

Sol. Is.: 1 try, I try. But how can I forget? Fifteen 
years have passed since then. But was there one single day 
in these fifteen long years that did not remind me of the 
horrors of that hour? Every new regulation against the 
Jew reminds me of it. Every petty bit of persecution re¬ 
minds me of it. Every Anti-Semitic article tears the wound 
open. Forget? I wish to God I could. 

Phin. Ab. : As I say, Solomon, you ought to see people 
more. At least, attend at the synagogue; you will meet 
there all sorts, strangers, and acquaintances. Hear the news, 
have a chat, and “Good Sabbath, fare ye well!’’ 

Sol. Is. : (Sadly) I have tried it more than once, but 
somehow it doesn’t work. 

Phtn. Ab. : You have yourself to blame! You take 
things too much to heart. People don’t like to be called down 
for each little thing. Besides, the Sabbath has been given 


50 


A Russian Siiylock. 


us for rest, not for worry. And you would have everybody 
worry about things even more than about business. You 
would make a terrible preacher, I tell you, not to be trifled 
with. It would be fire and brimstone for us sinners all the 
time. 

Sol. Is. : (Smiling) I am more inclined to laugh, by your 
own attestation. 

Phin. Ab. : ( Shrugs his shoulders) As who can make 
you out. You are a strange man. 

Sol. Is. : And not over much to your liking. Confess, 
Phineas. 

Phin. Ab. : I wish you were what you used to be. 

Sol. Is. : So do I, so do I. As who would refuse to enter 
Heaven ? Only, my sins won’t let me. But no more of this, 
old man. No more. Speak of yourself, your family. Come, 
now. How's Hannale? How are the children? 

Phin. Ab. : All are well, thank you. 

Sol. Is. : How is business ? 

Phin. Ab. : That’s all right, too, I suppose. 

Sol. Is. : You suppose? 

Phin. Ab. : The fact is, you see, I need your advice. 

Sol. Is. : Speak away. 

Phin. Ab. : And your help, if it won’t be too hard for 

you. 

Sol. Is.: ( Anxiously) Help? You are not embar¬ 
rassed, I hope. The Decision of the Senate did not hurt you ? 

Phin. Ab. : Me? No. How could it? Our office and 
warehouse are within the city limits. Besides, I employ 
enough Christians to satisfy even this Decision. 

Sol. Is. : As for me, I will not employ a single Russian. 
I’ll discharge them all. 


A Russian Shylock. 


5i 


Phin. Ab. : How can you? The Jews are all to be ex¬ 
pelled before February. Many have already moved. 

Sol. Is.: I move with them. 

Phin. Ab. : What do you mean? You are a merchant 
of the first guild. You are exempt. 

Sol. Is. : But I am a Jew, and I do not want to be ex¬ 
empt. I go with them. This town is within the pale, as yet. 
I will move all my plants to town. 

Phin. Ab. : Ah, goodness, Solomon, are you mad? 

Sol. Is.: Perhaps. 

Phin. Ab. : Only think of the cost! Why, it will run 
up into the thousands- 

Sol. Is. : Precisely, Phineas, precisely. But every ruble 
I’ll lose will cost them ten. 

Phin. Ab. : Them? Whom? 

Sol. Is. : My neighborly Christians, Phineas; them, who 
rubbed their hands with glee in delightful expectation of the 
higher rents and better terms they will now be able to 
squeeze out of the Jew, and them, too, of the poorer class, 
who are willing to take the job that the Jew is forced to quit. 
Are they, over there, at St. Petersburg, managing my busi¬ 
ness for me? Will they prescribe for me whom I shall 
employ ? 

Phin. Ab. : But that's the Law. 

Sol. Is. : The law ! The law ! For thirty years have I 
toiled and moiled ceaselessly and perseveringly. By my own 
efforts have I developed an industry that was all but un¬ 
known here in my boyhood. The forest lands that a shiftless 
and lazy nobility would let rot have I redeemed from utter 
ruin. While they were wasting their time and substance at 
the gaming table, in drink and sport, I toiled on, hardly 



5 2 A Russian Shylock. 

knowing rest. I have enriched the neighborhood, and now 
I am denied even the right to say how many Jews I shall 
employ in my own business, or in what capacity I shall em¬ 
ploy them. In my own business! Upon my own property ! 

Phin. Ab. : But you know the Decision of the Senate. 
The village has been declared outside the pale. 

Sol. Is. : Therefore I must ask a man his creed if I 
want to employ him? Not his trade, his ability, intelligence, 
skill, honesty, steadiness, sobriety? 

Phin. Ab. : ( Bewildered ) Why, man—but that’s the 

law. 

Sol. Is. : And I, a Jew, must give the preference to a 
Christian as the superior being because that’s the law ? And 
every time I do so I must myself admit my own inferiority 
because that’s the law ? 

Phin. Ab. : God protect you, Solomon. But that is the 

law. 

Sol. Is. : Then cursed be I if I submit. Shylock was, 
at least, spat upon by others; and here I am required to spit 
in my own face. And this their Christian justice, this the 
quality of their mercy! 

Phin. Ab. : Woe’s me, Solomon, listen to reason. The 
ukase was not meant for you alone. Why should you be the 
exception? You are not the first one, nor the last one. 

Sol. Is.: And why, pray? Why? Because our is a 
nation of slaves, of cowardly slaves. Whipped with the 
knout, we kiss the whipping hand; with the oppressor’s foot 
upon our necks we know only to bite the dust. Have these 
centuries of barbaric persecution purged us clear of all manly 
resistance? Are we but rags to be trampled into the mire? 


A Russian Shylock. 


53 


Not I, by God, not I. Do you expect me to see my working 
men driven out of my mills, my yards, driven out against my 
will and for no other reason than that they are of the same 
nation with me, believe in the same God with me, in the 
same Father, not in His Son—my own people forced into 
idleness, their homes ruined; their wives and babies shelter¬ 
less, homeless, starving—and I, a Jew, am ordered to fill their 
places with members of that very same race that persecutes 
them, and robs them, and humiliates them. . . . Phineas, 
Phineas, man, do you comprehend the diabolical cruelty of it 
all ? Could hell itself invent anything more monstrous, more- 
hideous? Were the Almighty God himself to come down— 
oh, no, no, no! I must not blaspheme thus!—this monstrosity 
of iniquity is not of God, it’s of Satan, of Satan. How can 
we submit, Phineas? How? Cursed be I, if HI give one 
Christian the job that the ukase has wrenched out of the 
hands of a Jew. I move my plants to town, and henceforth 
will I employ Jews only and exclusively. Nor shall I give 
any longer to the Christian Hospital, Orphanage, Refuge, 
schools. I withdraw every one of my subscriptions, and 
every kopeck that I can spare will go now to help these very 
same expelled Jews. Don’t you fear. They’ll find in me 
a hard fighter. And before I ruin myself HI turn that 
village into a howling wilderness. It took me thirty years 
to build it up; I’ll ruin it in as many months. Ah, if we 
only would strike back, and strike with all our might—this 
infernal persecution would stop in a hurry! It would, 
Phineas, it would. ... I shall not wait for others to 
set me the example. You call me preacher. You are right, 
man. I have been preaching too long. It’s time to be up 
and doing. 


54 


A Russian Shylock. 


Phin. Ab. : ( Shaking his head slowly) Woe’s me. Solo¬ 
mon, what may that lead to ? 

Sol. Is. : To whatever it pleases. One doesn’t live twice, 
and I am not going to waste my life for nothing. 

Phin. Ab. : Don’t invite trouble, Solomon. I mean well 
by you. 

Sol. Is. : I know it. 

Phin. Ab. : Then listen to me. Don’t borrow trouble. 
Take my advice. 

Sol. .Is. : Thanks. 

Phin. Ab. : Ah, you are stubborn 

Sol. Is. : Then waste no words on me. Speak of your 
own affairs, and if I can help you, I will. 

Phin. Ab. : I know it. You have always been a true 
friend. 

Sol. Is. : You don’t know it at all. I’ll try to help you 
not because you are my friend—this is a different considera¬ 
tion and entirely irrelevant—but because you are a Jew. 

Phin. Ab. : Because I am a Jew? 

Sol. Is. : Even so. 

Phin. Ab. : That’s something new. 

Sol. Is.: So is the Decision of the Senate, Phineas; so 
are the regulation of ’92, and even those of ’82. 

Phin. Ab. : Even of ’82? These, at least, are too old 
to be new. 

Sol. Is. : And I tell you they are too new to be old; 
I say it, and so I feel it. 

Phin. Ab. : Ah, the Decision has hit you hard, my poor 
Solomon. 

Sol. Is. : Hit me? I’ll hit them harder, you may be sure. 


A Russian Shylock. 


55 


But—akh, I am tired of it. Listen, Phineas, tell me your 
troubles, and- 

Phin. Ab. : Clear out, eh? 

Sol. Is. : No, no, old man. I meant if you need money 
draw on me—all I can. 

Phin. Ab. : It’s money, of course; but not quite in that 
sense. You see—but this is strictly confidential. 

Sol. Is. : I understand. 

Phin. Ab. : Not a word about it to a living soul, or it 
may indeed embarrass me. Besides, a man’s honor may get 
involved; we must be very careful. 

Sol. Is. : That’s indeed becoming rather interesting. 
Drop your mysterious air, though. 

Phin. Ab. : I have noticed of late—Grigory Osipovich, 
you know, is an honorable man and comes of a good family. 
Nor did I make him cashier before I- 

Sol. Is. : Has he robbed you ? 

Phin. Ab. : I haven’t said that; I haven’t said that. 
Only- 

Sol. Is. : Only ? 

Phin. Ab. : The books, you see—there is some hitch in 
the books. I am something of a bookkeeper myself, but I 
would rather not take all the responsibility. 

Sol. Is. : And you suspect young Retvinsky? 

Phin. Ab. : I suspect nobody; nobody in particular, and 
everybody generally. But I can’t let things go on in this 
way. 

Sol. Is.: Certainly not. What’s your plan? 

Phin. Ab. : So, I thought to myself—Herr Fishel is 
reputed an expert accountant- 

Sol. Is. : And so he is. 






56 


A Russian Shylock. 


Phin. Ab. : You are an expert yourself; you ought to 
know. 

Sol. Is. : I tell you he is just the man to tackle such a 
job as this. Take my word for it. Nothing will escape his 
scrutiny. 

Phin. Ab. : Will you let him do it for me? 

Sol. Is. : What a question! I’ll ask him myself. 

Phin. Ab. : I mean can you spare him? It may take a 
couple of weeks. 

Sol. Is. : It isn’t as bad as all that, is it? Besides, Herr 
Fishel is no sluggard. He won’t need so much time. 

Phin. Ab. : But can you spare him ? 

Sol. Is. : I can, I can, don’t worry. 

Phin. Ab. : Is he reliable? I mean the affair must not 
be suffered to leak out. 

Sol. Is. : No fear; he can hold his tongue, 

Phin. Ab. : It’s settled then? 

Sol. Is. : It is settled. 

Phin. Ab. : Will you speak to him? 

Sol. Is. : I will. 

Phin. Ab. : Thank you. 

Sol. Is. : Leave that for later. 

Phin. Ab. : Yes, it’s a burden off mv shoulder. 

Sol. Is. : Glad to hear it. 

Phin. Ab. : Now, look here, Solomon, I know you; you 
want me to go now. 

Sol. Is. : Do not be angry with me, old man. 

Phin. Ab. : Oh, I don’t mind it. You are a big crank. 
That s all. But if you don’t pay me a visit within two weeks, 
I’ll . . . call again. 


A Russian Shylocic. 


57 


Sol. Is.: ( Feelingly ) Thank you, my dear Phineas. 
(They shake hands.) 

Phin. Ac. : Good Sabbath. 

Sol. Is. : Good-day, I’ll speak to Herr Fishel. 

Phin. Ab. : All right. But don’t forget. 

Sol. Is. : I won’t. 

(Exit Phineas.) 

Esther: (In the doorway, on the left) Here, Masha, 
you slow thing. Here, this is the dining room now. Don’t 
you understand? He wills it so. 

(Enters Masha.) 

(She carries a tray; on the tray, fruit . a glass o{ 
tea, a sugar bowl, etc.) 

Esther : Place the tray here. 

Sol. Is. : Not on the desk, sister. 

Esther: (To Masha) Not on the desk. Of course not. 
Your books—not here, you muddle-head; put the tray there, 
lest his books be spoiled by mishap. Ah’s me. Pie cares 
more for his books than for himself. Go now. Mind the 
samovar, and—here—be within call. 

(Exit Masha.) 

Ah, what fine pears! What luscious grapes! Sweet 
as sugar. Have some, Solomon. You will relish them. I 
have picked them out myself. Indeed, I have. 

Sol. Is.: (Taking a cigar from the open box) I had 
enough at dinner; I haven’t asked for more. (Lights his 
cigar.) 

Esther: Much did you eat at dinner. “I had enough, 
enough!” Confess, rather, you are doing penance, are bent 
upon fasting or starving yourself into illness—be it not 
uttered in an evil hour. Did you ever hear the like of it! 


58 


A Russian Shylock. 


A library for a dining room, tea and tobacco for meals, and 
books and papers for a relishing dish. Woe’s me, Solomon. 
Look at yourself. What’s the use of wearing one’s self out 
so! Have something. Look at these peaches. Just look! 
Or, will you have some fresh cream ? Ah, what cream! 
Masha! Masha! 

Masha: (in the doorway) Yes, ma’am. 

Esther : Tell Sarah the maid, down in the cellar, in the 
smaller ice tank, in the corner- 

Sol. Is. : But, Esther, I don’t want any cream, nor 
anything else. Indeed, I don’t. 

Esther: (To Masha) Shut the door. (She busies her¬ 
self with the fruit on the tray.) Please, be not impatient 
with me. Am I your enemy? Truly, I mean you no harm. 
Your health is my care. You are a clever man, brother, and 
learned. But on steam and smoke alone one cannot live. 
Why should you kill yourself? Be it not uttered in an evil 
hour! 

Sol. Is.: (Impatiently) Yes; of course. 

Esther : Poor mother, poor aged mother, has enough 
to bear—may we not be punished for the sinful murmurings 
—enough grief in her aching heart, and she can hardly move 
about. Who, then, shall take care of you ? Surely not dear 
Rosalie. For ever- 

Sol. Is. : Please, Esther. 

Esther : —busy with her poor, her charities, and 
studies, the dear child hasn’t a moment to spare for you or 
me or even herself. A fine caretaker would she make. She 
is clever, eh? and learned? And I tell you, Solomon, she 
is but a child. Now, would you burden her- 





A Russian Shylock. 


59 


Sol. Is. : Please, Esther, you know well enough I have 
no such intentions. 

Esther : And why should you have them ? The idea! 
Care and worry seem to shun the dear child. Would you 
mar her happiness? Not you, I know. May Heaven bless 
her, our sweet little dove, it is a joy to see her. So happy, 
and laughing, and gay. Mirthful like a lark. 

Sol. Is. : ( Shaking his head slowly) Woe’s me. Her 
mirth isn’t much to my liking. 

Esther: Woe’s me. What do you mean? Has any¬ 
thing happened to the child ? 

Sol. Is. : Nothing. Nothing that you need be anxious 
about. 

Esther: How you have frightened me! 

Sol. Is. : Are you so easily frightened ? 

Esther : Dear little Rosalie. Our only joy, the only 
sunshine in the house. But for her what should we be now ? 
Mere shadows. You are rich, Solomon, and we live in 
plenty—may ours be the lot of all the children in Israel! 
It were a sin to complain. But the house is so gloomy. 
Mother is forever weeping. You, forever sad. Ah’s me, 
what a life is ours! 

Sol. Is. : Haven’t you yourself just said truly that on 
smoke alone one cannot live. Twenty thousand rubles have 
I added to my fortune in this one season. Do I need the 
money? Do you need it? Does Rosalie need it? Smoke, 
smoke, smoke! It’s only smoke that blinds the eye and 
befogs the brain, but never warms the heart. Never. Akh, 
what’s the use? Please, Esther, let me—let me read a little. 

Esther: Haven’t you read enough? Did you ever 


6 o 


A Russian Shylock. 


hear? Such a plague! Books, books, nothing but books! 
Ai, Solomon, read a little, eat a little, rest a little! Be a man. 

Sol. Is. : ( Smiling ) I study the Holy Books, Esther. 

Esther: That for your Holy- ( Slaps her mouth.) 

It is only a sin to talk to you. Do you intend to become a 
Rabbi? I ask you. You won’t be a Rabbi, believe me. 

Sol. Is. : ( Smiling ) Oh, no, not I. A Rabbi? ( Shakes 
his head slowly, and laughs softly.) One must be cock¬ 
sure about his Torah and Talmud, to presume to answer all 
questions. But I am only one of the perplexed. I know 
only to ask questions. Only to ask them, I fear. ( Starts 
to walk about the room.) 

Esther: (Looking after him) So I may go now. Eh, 
Solomon ? 

Sol. Is. : Oh, please, Esther. Can’t you do me this 
little favor? I want to read a little, just leave me alone. 

(Enter Miriam.) 

(She looks much older, much weaker, and leans 
on a heavy cane for support.) 

Sol. Is.: (Tenderly) Let me help you to the sofa, 
mother. You will be more comfortable here. 

Miriam: I am not in your way, son? You are not 
busy? 

Esther: He not busy! (Perceiving his vigorous sign¬ 
ing to her.) I’ll tell her all. He has just been sending me 
away, mother; hasn’t read enough in his books, you see. 

Miriam : This is not right, Solomon. You must give 
her a little of your time. What joys has she? Without chil¬ 
dren of her own, and a widow? Come here, Esther. ( Mo¬ 
tioning her to sit down near her.) You must be kind to her, 
Solomon. 



A Russian Shylock. 


6i 


Sol. Is. : Indeed, mother, I mean well by her. 

Esther : But you always grudge me a little of your 

time. 

Miriam : Be just, Esther. Solomon is always kind to 
you. Only he is impatient at times—just as father used to 
be, may he rest in peace. Kind, yet impatient. A little more 
forbearance, my son. 

Sol. Is. : You take it too much to heart, mother. Don’t 
let such trifles disturb you. They are not worth it. ( Look¬ 
ing at his watch.) You haven’t had your rest, I see. Esther, 
we have thoughtlessly disturbed mother. 

Miriam : Not at all, children. You have not disturbed 
me. 

Sol. Is. : You should now be in your room, resting. The 
doctor says a little sleep in the afternoon may do you good. 

Esther : Yes, mother. Come to your room. It’s quieter 
there. 

Miriam : But I cannot sleep. 

Sol. Is. : You excite yourself unnecessarily, I fear. You 
need quiet. 

Miriam : (Sighs) Blessed are they that are granted 
what they need most. 

Sol. Is. : Hasn’t the doctor prescribed for you ? Or are 
his drugs impotent? I’ll invite a professor from abroad, 
then. 

Miriam : No, Solomon, the doctor is a kind man, and 
knowing. But the physician’s skill is only vanity, without 
the blessings from on high. 

Esther : Don’t despair, mother. Heaven is merciful. 
Come to your room, and be rested. 

Miriam : Sleep is not rest. 


6 2 


A Russian Shylock. 


Sol. Is. : At least, it is forgetfulness. 

Miriam : Ah’s me, my son. Man's devices are but for 
the flesh, and my ailment is not of the body. Woe to me. 
(Rises to the attitude of prayer.) Woe to me in my wicked¬ 
ness ! Oh, Merciful Father. Have pity upon my unworthy 
soul, and release a poor, heart-broken mother from the cruel 
anguish. I am old. I have lived long enough, and have 
suffered enough. Oh, how I have suffered. Sweet Father 
in Heaven! Hear thou my prayer and account it not a sin. 
No, no, no. Away from me, wicked thoughts! Away! I 
doubt not His justice. Thy Holy Will be done. But if all 
the suffering Thou hast seen fit to apportion me in thy just 
wrath, has not been yet measured out to me in full, be it then 
Thy Holy Will to grant me this one favor. Send me some 
forgetfulness; let not my sleep be disturbed by those dreams, 
those frightful dreams. ( Falls into her seat, exhausted, her 
voice gradually falling to a whisper.) My poor boy. My 
poor dear boy. Dovidel, Dovidel, my darling son. Away 
are you from your mother. Far, far away, in Siberia— 
among cruel heathens. Tormented, tortured, and in chains. 
At hard labor, in Siberia, and in chains. My Dovidel, my 
gentle boy, in chains. He, that would not hurt God’s mean¬ 
est creature, in chains. He, a criminal in chains. He, with 
his sweet temper, his tender heart, more loving than a 
mother’s—he plagued and tortured at hard labor, in Siberia, 
in chains. My Dovidel, Dovidel, Dovidel (in a dying 
whisper ). 

(Esther breaks out in loud sobs. Miriam, suddenly 
aroused by Esther’s tears, in a loud voice.) Weep, my 
daughter, weep. Cry to our Merciful Father in Heaven 
that he may for your sake, if not for mine, take pity on your 


A Russian Shylock. 


63 


poor mother and send me tears to melt the despair in my 
heart. Pray, Solomon, my son, pray! (In a whisper) My 
Dovidel, my Dovidel, Dovidel. 

Ros. Sol. : ( Behind the stage) Fie, girls, listening at 

the door! Fie! And you, too, Masha. Are not you- 

(Her voice breaks off suddenly, and then, after a pause) 
Ah’s me! What do I hear! (Opens the door hastily and 
makes straight for Miriam.) Grandma crying? My dear 
grandma crying? (Hastily unbonneting, she throws her¬ 
self at Miriam's feet, kisses her Ungers, talking to her all 
the while.) What have they done to my Babusya? Tell 
me all. I know. I know. They have been thoughtless, 
careless. (Pressing her cheek to Miriam's hand; Miriam's 
lips moving in inaudible whisper.) Am I not your pet, 
Babusya, dear? How white your hand, and how delicate! 
Don’t be grieved, Babusya, dear, fondle me, pat me. Thus. 
Thus. (Leading Miriam's hand as if teaching her how to 
pat her.) Ah is me. I have left my Babusya just for one 

little hour to visit my poor- (Here a good plan suggests 

itself to her. She no longer wavers, but goes straight to the 
point. Now she exactly knows what to say, and as she 
proceeds she sees her way more and more clearly.) Oh. 
Babusya, what nice little children I have just visited. 

Miriam : My poor Dovidel . . . Dovidel . . . 

far . . . far away in Siberia ... in chains. . . 

Ros. Sol. : (Throzving off her coat, and then resuming 
her place at Miriam's feet) Yes, dearest grandma. Yes. 
Nice little children, all of them. Boys and girls, so innocent, 
so pure. And I gave them presents and sweets, and made 
them so happy! 

Miriam : Oh, my poor Dovidel. 




64 


A Russian Shylock. 


Ros. Sol. : Yes, Babusya, yes, fondle me, pat me, Ba- 
busya. Thus. Thus. And I told them to pray for my uncle 
David. Don’t you like your little Rosalie? I shall cry, 
Babusya. ( Her voice is choking with tears, but she suc¬ 
ceeds in mastering herself.) Let me kiss your fingers. Fon¬ 
dle me, pat me. Thus. Thus. And the little children did 
pray. So pure, so gentle, so happy. And God, you know, 
will hear their prayer. Yes, He will. 

Miriam : Oh, merciful Father in Heaven. ( Esther sob¬ 
bing out aloud.) Hush, Esther, hush. 

Ros. Sol. : No, Babusya dear, it’s not auntie’s fault. 
Auntie is kind and thoughtful. I know who is to blame. 
Papa is to blame. 

Miriam : Hush, my child, hush. ( Patting her nozv of 
her own free will, albeit rather listlessly .) 

Ros. Sol. : No, Babusya dear, papa is to blame. He is 
not a dutiful son. 

Miriam: Hush, you obstinate child. ( Patting her.) 
You must not speak thus of your father. 

Ros. Sol. : Now you are angry with me, Babusya. 
( Putting her head in Miriam's lap.) I know you are angry. 
I have been naughty. Forgive me. Wouldn’t you forgive 
me? 

Miriam : Yes, my sweet little angel. 

Ros. Sol.: ( Kissing Miriam's hand) Kind grandma. 
But I have been naughty ever since this morning. And I 
saw such a dream. 

Miriam : (Anxiously) A dream, child ! A dream! My 
poor Rosochka, my poor, poor baby! Woe’s me. Do you 
also see dreams? 

Ros. Sol. : Why, of course, grandma. And such a nice 


A Russian Shylock. 


65 


dream it was. And I wanted to tell you, but forgot. For¬ 
give. I forgot. Such a sweet dream! 

Miriam : ( With a deep sigh) A sweet dream, child. 

Ros. Sol.: Oh, yes, grandma. ( Rising front the door 
and taking Miriam's face between both her hands.) I only 
wish it came true. It was like this. Do you want to hear it ? 

Miriam : Yes, dearest. 

Ros. Sol. : I was once more a little, little girl; and I had 
some hard examples to do; but I did not know how. And I 
thought of uncle David; he would help me; and I looked 
for him. ( Miriam sighs.) But he was nowhere. And I 
was in the street among a big, big crowd of people; all 
strangers; and all busy and bustling, running hither and 
thither, and nobody cared for me, and I felt so lonely. Oh, 
how I longed to see uncle David. Suddenly I saw him, far, 
far away from me. ( Miriam covers her face and cries 
softly.) And he, too, was running, running faster and 
faster without hardly glancing at me. 

Miriam: And Dovidel, too, was running? And you 
did see him in your dream? 

Ros. Sol. : As plainly as I see you, Babusya. 

Miriam : Be you blessed forever, dearest child. Heaven 
is kind to you. Ah’s me! Were such bliss but granted poor 
me! Be it not accounted me a sin. And whither was he 
running? Tell me, child. Tell me all. 

Ros. Sol. : Towards me, Babusya. And as he passed 
me he smiled. 

Miriam : He smiled. 

Ros. Sol. : And said: “I must hasten home, little one.” 

Miriam : “Hasten home.” 

Ros. Sol. : “I know your worries,” he said, “but I have 


66 


A Russian Shylock. 


no time to stop on the way. Mother is waiting for me. I 
must hie me home, home, home.” 

Miriam : “Home, home, home.” 

Ros. Sol.: Yes, Babusya; I heard it clearly. No mis¬ 
take about it. Three times he said it. 

Miriam : Three times? 

Ros Sol. : Three times he said it, and then smiled again. 

Miriam : Three times he said it and smiled again. Oh, 
, Merciful Father in Heaven, praised be thy infinite Wisdom. 
^Oh, God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, turn Thy Holy wrath 
to blessed mercy and grant that this pure child’s dream come 
true. 

Esther and Sol. Is.: Amen ! 

Ros. Sol. : Do you know what, dear grandma ? I have 
a presentiment—in my very heart I feel it—that this dream 
was sent me as an omen, a good omen. 

Miriam : ( Embracing Rosalie ) May Heaven heed thy 
sweet words! May they be uttered in a lucky hour! You 
have the presentiment? In your heart you feel it? And 
yours, dearest, dearest Risochka, is a true heart, and it can¬ 
not play you false. Have you heard her, Esther ? Have you, 
Solomon? What do you say, children? 

Esther: Let us hope for the best. He, whose name 
I am unworthy to mention, is merciful. 

Sol. Is. : It’s a pleasant dream, of course. But it is only 
a dream, mother. I certainly wish it came true. 

Miriam : Ah, I know you, Solomon. You must needs 
think your own way. What all the world believes, isn’t good 
enough for you. 

Ros. Sol. : Bear up with him, grandma dear. Papa 
doesn’t believe in dreams. Let us rather go to your room. 


A Russian Shylock. 


67 


There I'll tell you all. How uncle looked, and how he was 
dressed. Yes, Babusya? You’ll he down in your bed, or on 
the sofa, and I’ll tell you all while you are resting. 

Miriam : Yes, child. And you will open the window, 
as dear Dovidel used to do. He was always mindful of 
his old mother, and so kind to me! But, perhaps, you are 
tired ? * 

Ros. Sol. : I tired ? 

Miriam : Or you must study in your books? 

Ros. Sol. : I have done for to-day. Only I’ll want some 
seltzer. Masha! Masha! 

Masha : Yes, ma-am. 

Ros. Sol. : Get me some seltzer, and some wine, please. 
Fetch them to grandma’s room. We'll be there. And, here, 
put away my things. And by the way, do you know, Masha, 
I owe you a scolding? Well, well, we’ll put it off till to-mor¬ 
row, I guess. But I may forget, you know. So first thing in 
the morning, kindly remind me to give you the scolding. 
(Masha covers her face with her apron, and laughs.) In¬ 
deed, girl, indeed. It was not nice of you to listen at the 
door. However, the sooner we forget a bad thing the better. 
Now be off. But don’t forget the wine and the seltzer. 
Come, grandma. 

(Masha gathers up Rosalie's hat and coat and 
leaves through the door on the right.) 

Miriam : Come, child. Take my arm, or I’ll rather take 
yours. For shall not the old lean on younger strengths? 

Ros. Sol. : (Looking over her shoulder, as Miriam takes 
her arm) Papa, I was rather disrespectful in what I said. 
You do not mind, papa? 


68 


A Russian Shylock. 


Sol. Is.: Mind? Why, bless you, child! You are our 
guardian angel! 

Miriam: {To Rosalie) Don’t you mind him, pet. He 
only tries to spoil you. 

Ros. Sol. : Oh, auntie. Masha may bring me some 
of the white table-wine, and that’s so sour. I want something 
sweet, and {with a significant look) strong, you know. 

Esther: I know, Rosalie, I know. I'll send you the 
right wine. I’ll attend to that myself. And—and—hm— 
will you not have some fruit besides ? Ah, what pears ? What 
grapes! You are fond of grapes, I know. Shall n’t I send 
you some for refreshment? 

Ros. Sol. : Provided you have picked them out yourself, 
auntie dear. 

Esther : Haven’t I ? So may I live to see your wedding 
day with my own eyes, dearest! I have picked them out, 
every bunch of them, with my own hands. Havne’t I, Solo¬ 
mon. Haven’t I ? 

Ros. Sol. : Then I shall certainly have some. 

Esther: There's a good child. And some pears, eh? 
Or, do you know what? 

Ros. Sol. : I know it'll soon be time for the evening tea, 
auntie. Besides, papa may want some of your pears, I am 
sure. 

{Exeunt Miriam and Rosalie.) 

Sol. Is. : {Calling after Rosalie) You mischievous elf. 

Esther: Now you see, Solomon, she’ll soothe poor 
mother now; she’ll make her take her dose of the wine and 
then lull her to rest; as sure as I live. And she did not refuse 
my grape, either. Don’t you spoil my pleasure now. Eh, 
Solomon ? 


A Russian Shylock. 


69 

Sol. Is. : Nor will I. To please you, I shall become 
simply voracious. ( Begins to eat of the fruit.) 

Esther: ( With admiring tenderness) See, Solomon? 
Am I not right? Isn’t dear Rosalie the sunshine of the 
house ? Before she came in—what ? 

Sol. Is. : Tears and gloom. 

Esther: And now, eh? May Heaven, indeed, guard 
her against all harm ! 

Sol. Is. : Amen! 

Esther: Without her, where should we be now? 

Sol. Is.: We should be now, as before, standing here 
like two silly scare-crows, at a loss what to say or do—you 
crying your heart out and I without enough ready wit even 
to cry. 

Esther : And that dream of hers, and presentiment— 
how handy it all came! And just in time! 

Sol. Is.: Handy? Just in time? (Laughs.) 

Esther: How, Solomon? Was it all merely an inven¬ 
tion? 

Sol. Is. : That’s exactly what it was, my kind-hearted 
Esther. A clever invention, eh? And made to order, and 
on the spot, at that! 

Esther : You don’t mean it! And she only pouted once 
or twice. That’s how she always manages me, in that child¬ 
ish, capricious way of hers. But she didn’t cry; not once. 
And poor mother had such a fit! Worse than usual. My 
heart would break, I thought. But the dear child didn’t 
so much as drop a tear. 

Sol. Is. : Isn’t she always so merry, and joking, and 
gay? Eh, my good Esther, come now. Don’t stare at me 
so! Confess Rosalie is rather a puzzling tangle. Full of 


A Russian Shylock. 


70 

most unreasonable surprises, eh? Ha-ha-ha! ( Taking her 
by both hands and speaking seriously.) My good Esther, 
don’t you think—I have meant to ask you this many a time— 
doesn’t Rosalie look very much like—like her mother ? 

Esther: Like Sarahle? May she rest in peace! Why 
of course, whom else should she look like? Especially the 
eyes—just like Sarahle’s. 

Sol. Is. : Yes, yes, my dear sister. The same big, clear 
soulful eyes. Oh, how I love to look into them. It’s my 
delight. It reminds me— Is that all the resemblance you 
have noticed? All? Now that the dear child has bloomed 
into full womanhood ? Eh ? Speak the truth, my kind, good 
Esther. Don’t fear. It won’t hurt me. It can’t hurt me. 

Esther: Hurt you? Why should it hurt you? It’s 
rather a pleasure, I should say. 

Sol. Is. : So it is. So it is. 

Esther : No one needs be sorry for resembling Sarahle 
—may she rest in peace ! So beautiful, so kind; so quiet, and 
loving—wouldn’t hurt a fly! and pious and god-fearing. 

Sol. Is. : Woe’s me. How sweet the praise, and how 
well deserved! You loved her, Esther. 

Esther : As my own life I loved her— may she rest in 
peace! But what puts these questions into your mind now, 
after fifteen years? 

Sol. Is. : OR, nothing in particular; but as she was just 
telling Masha to fetch the wine, it suddenly struck me- 

Esther: ( Claps her hands to her sides, in sudden 
alarm) Here I am wasting my time with you, and Rosalie 
waiting for the wine, perhaps. 

Sol. Is. : And the grapes. 

Esther : And mother’s medicine. 



A Russian Shylock. 


7 1 


Sol. Is. : Better leave that to Rosalie. 

(Exit Esther in a hurry.) 

Sol. Is. : (Sadly) My only child! My noble girl! Ah’s 
me! What country this ! What times ! Any father might 
be proud of such a daughter and be happy, but my heart only 
aches. The worthier I find you, the more it aches. Sad 
forebodings have entered it and have crowded all the pride 
and happiness out of it. (Sighs. Unlocks a drawer in his 
desk and takes from it a leather booklet containing two pic¬ 
tures of his deceased wife. Gazes at the pictures; then covers 
up until his finger the upper part of one of them, then the 
lower, and again the upper.) Positively, except the eyes, 
the similarity is but slight. Yet . . . I can’t under¬ 

stand it. The resemblance is at times so awfully suggestive. 
What may that be? Or is anything the matter with me? 
(Gazing at the pictures. ) Or is it the expression of the eyes ? 
This sad and saddening look, so full of alarm and entreaty, at 
once pitying and appealing ? ( Gazing away from the pictures 
into vacancy, shakes his head slozvly.) Yes, yes. I know that 
look. Oh, I know it too well. Poor, suffering mother has it. 
Esther has it, Sarah the maid has it. Every Jewish woman 
has it. More pronounced or less, what matters it? It’s there 
all the time, among all classes and in all conditions of life. 
It’s our national characteristic, that anxious look of alarm, 
so full of pity and appeal. All-wise Providence was pleased 
to stamp it upon the mothers of our race. Two thousand 
years of persecution have not passed over our heads without 
leaving a deep sear in the tortured soul. Erom mother to 
daughter, for generations and generations, has it been trans¬ 
mitted, this constant fear, this blood-curdling, brain-chilling, 
petrifying fear of lurking dangers and impending disasters 


72 


A Russian Shylock. 


to beloved ones, to dear ones. Woe’s me, woe’s me! What 
else could all this savage persecution leave in the aching 
Jewish heart if not this intense, longing appeal for mercy, 
mercy, mercy—which was never, never granted, not even to 
the innocent babe in its cradle. Christians they call them¬ 
selves! Oh, Christ in heaven! Does not thy Jewish heart 
bleed, and ache and burn with indignation at the atrocities 
of thy followers a thousand times more than the mere flesh 
wounds of the crucifixion ? Or art thou powerless in thy just 
wrath ? But what do I say ? Christ indignant! Christ in 
wrath! Christ and anger! Ha-ha-ha! Only an infidel of 
a Jew could blaspheme thus. These Christians are so loving 
and forgiving and, oh, so meek! Aren’t they? Ha-ha-ha! 
“Love thy neighbor as thyself” is too small for them. “If 
thou art smitten on one cheek, present the other.” That’s 
Christian doctrine. And so it is, provided the smitten cheek 
is a Jewish cheek, and the smiting arm is the arm of the 
meek, and loving, and forgiving Christian—especially so, 
when the spiritualizing piety of smiting the cheek is well 
seconded by a substantial grab at the Jewish pocket. And 
yet, there are they, of our own race—those cowardly, 
abortive, creeping worms, that are ready to crawl on all 
their fours and lick the boots of the Orthodox, Right-Glori¬ 
ous, God-appointed rulers of Holy mother-Russia in a das¬ 
tardly appeal for mercy. A thousand times readier am I to 
bare this old aching heart to their utmost hellish tortures 
than beg mercy of them. A Jew begging of them—of them 
—of that moujik race of drinking, wife-beating Tartar imps 
—whom I can buy with a couple of rubles like so many 
mangy curs that are infuriated by their avidity and silenced 
with a sop! Oh, no, no! Not I. I am a Jew. I believe in 




A Russian Shylock. 73 

the Father. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth—this is 
His doctrine and He is the Father. He knows better. Strike 
back, and strike with all your might—this is the law of God 
and nature—this is the law which you, who rank the Son 
above the Father, do actually and religiously follow—and 
follow with a vengeance, all your cheap mouthing about love, 
and mercy, and forgiveness notwithstanding. Nay, give the 
devil his due. This pious rant about meekness, etc., etc., is 
a well paying asset of the business and helps the better to 
beat one’s neighbor. As a befogging advertisement alone it 
is worth its weight in gold. There is a shrewd game for you 
shrewdly conducted. Ha-ha-ha! (With a deep sigh, he 

returns to the pictures.) My poor wife; my poor Sarahle! 
How I did love you! Who could have foreseen that terrible 
blow! But for our orphaned child, I would have followed 
you. But I had no right to die. I had to live—for little 
Rosalie’s sake I had to live. And I did live when death was 
a blessing. In the bloom of your youth, in the freshness and 
gladness of your young life you were ruthlessly hurled into 
death. And this a Christian country. Oh, how long, my God, 
how long! So happy, so young, so full of life and hope! 
Vigor and health in your every motion, in your every breath ! 
(Shudders.) Akh, that horrid scene—the unearthly yells 
of the infuriated, drunken mob—your mangled body in the 
street, in the mud, in your own blood. Then, darkness. All 
was darkness. With the light of your eyes went out the light 
of my soul. In your grave was buried my heart, my love, 
my happiness, my sunshine. Hatred alone was left me. It 
is still here. I feel it here. I know it is here. I know it 
by the hellish fire that is consuming my soul but cannot con¬ 
sume it. Soul ? There is no soul here. There shall be none. 


74 


A Russian Shylock. 


I am not a cowardly cur of a natural-born Russian to rob, 
and kill, and burn, and sing Jesus, Jesus! I am a Jew. I 
shall have my revenge. Sunday school teaching for Sunday 
school babies. I am a man. I’ll fight back. I’ll fight back. 
Shylock was a man. He would not swallow those knock-out 
drops of talk about mercy. That virtuous she-shyster in 
trousers could not fool him. He knew what he was about. 
He would have his pound of flesh; next to the heart he 
would have it. But I shall have the heart, and crush it, 
crush it, as they have crushed mine. I shall see it quivering 
in its agony, and feast my eyes on the sight. I, too, can be 
a Christian, if sufficiently provoked. But I shall not sing, 
“Jesus, Jesus.” Not I. If it’s to be hell—then let it be hell 
unmasked. Only cowards strike from under cover. 


(Curtain. ) 



ACT III. 


(The same room. On a chair, the fur coat and 
fur cap of Phineas Ahraamovich Milman.) 

(Herzfarb and Milman.) 

Phin. Ab. : Well, well. You are right, of course, but— 

Sol. Is. : So there is a hut after all. And what may that 
be, pray? 

Phin. Ab. : It’s a pity, Solomon. It is a pity. 

Sol. Is. : ( Shrugs his shoulders) You are a free man. 
Do as you please. 

Phin. Ab. : But I cannot do as I please. 

Sol. Is. : Then do as I tell you. 

(Phineas rises. Takes up his coat, pauses, and 
looks hack at Solomon Isaacovich.) 

Phin. Ab. : So it is of no use? 

Sol. Is. : Now, look here, Phineas. You have been 
talking pity to me until I am tired of it. Why not be a man 
and face the music? Have vou been robbed? Yes. You 
have been robbed. Will your bills come up for payment? 
Yes, so they will. Can you meet them all? No, you cannot. 
Now, what is this young scalawag to you or to me? He 
has robbed you. Thanks to him, your good standing with 
your creditors is endangered. I offer to come to your 
rescue— 

Phin. Ab. : But on what terms! 

Sol. Is. : That’s it. On the condition that you at once 
proceed against the fellow to the fullest extent of the law. 

Phin. Ab. : Ah, but you should have seen the Major, 



76 


A Russian Shylock. 


Solomon. Poor old man. It was a terrible blow to him, as 
you can well imagine. His son an embezzler! Impossible! 
Incredible! Ah, how he stormed, at first. An incensed 
monarch, every inch of him! All his family pride spoke up 
against it. His son a thief! His son! Impossible! It 
was but malicious slander to hurt his good name, a con¬ 
temptible fabrication or, at the very best, some unfortunate 
mistake. “My dear sir,” says he to me, “get your book¬ 
keepers to set your books right.” But when the truth did, 
at last, find its way into his dull head—the young scamp, 
it seems, has confessed—oh, how he begged and begged, 
not a shadow of his former pride remaining for a remem¬ 
brance. The disgrace of it! The scandal would kill him! 
And he begged for time, only for a little time. “I’ll pay 
you back every ruble,” says he, “but I haven’t the ready 
cash. Give me the time to raise it in.” It was a pity to hear 
him. I tell you; enough to melt a stone. Oh, if I could but 
pay my bills! It’s for his sake that I speak to you; for the 
poor father’s sake. 

Sol. Is. : Why not for the son’s? 

Phin. Ab. : That scamp! 

Sol. Is. : Why not ? He is so young. The scandal may 
prove the ruin of him. Have pity! 

Phin. Ab. : On him? On that scamp, the cause of it 
all? Not I. He certainly deserves all he may get. The 
embezzler, the gambler, the fast liver. He has enjoyed him¬ 
self at my expense long enough. Now let him pay for it. 
Oh, no. I would show him no mercy. Not him. 

Sol. Is.: Because he has wronged you? Eh, Phineas? 

Phin. Ab. : Hasn’t he? 


A Russian Shylock. 


77 


Sol. Is. : I see. Your pocket has suffered, and you are 
quick enough to resent that. 

Phin. Ab. : My pocket? You speak of the money 
only. Has he wronged me in this alone? Wasn’t I even 
as a father to him ? Did I ever spare myself if only I could 
be of use to him? He came to me a green lad, unable to 
tell a sable from a sheep-skin. And now he understands 
the business thoroughly. Who taught him? I did. I. 

Sol. Is. : I see. 

Piiin. Ab. : Or was I ever slow to promote him? No 
sooner was he proficient in one thing than I showed him 
the next. Myself have led him on and on, step by step, until 
he understands the business now as well as myself. 

Sol. Is. : And you took all these pains with him because 
he is of noble birth, a member of the landed nobility? 

Phin. Ab. : Of course. I could not be expected to do all 
this for the first passer-by. 

Sol. Is. : And, if you please, how did this young blue- 
blood repay you? He wasn’t over-grateful, was he? 

Phin. Ab. : The worthless scamp. The meanest dog 
would have felt more gratitude. 

Sol. Is. : Now, then, talk pity a little more, please. It 
is so instructive to hear you. 

Phin. Ab. : But I speak of his parents, his poor aged 
parents. 

Sol. Is. : Of the gentlefolks themselves. I see. Why 
not turn Christian altogether, Phineas, and be so meek, so 
kind, so forgiving? 

Phin. Ab. : Can you feel no pity, Solomon. 

Sol. Is.: (Shrugging his shoulders ) I? I am only a 

Jew. 


78 


A Russian Shylock. 


Piiin. Ab. : Only a Jew? What do you mean? 

Sol. Is.: Just what I say; neither more, nor less. 

Phin. Ab. : What has become of you ? You are simply 
not yourself. You have become of late a—a—the evil one 
alone knows what. Have you really turned demon, or you 
only pretend you have? 

Sol. Is. : Neither. I only try to learn to become one. 
Don’t fear. I’ll learn the trick quickly enough. 

Phin. Ab. : But why, man? Why? I have known you 
to be at times—hm—hm—rather strange, but—hm—hm— 
never cruel, never heartless. 

Sol. Is. : Heartless? Cruel? Ah’s me, my good Phin- 
eas. You are a Jew, and Jews are reputed to be the Sons 
Merciful; why, then, as I have already suggested, not have 
pity on that general manager of yours? 

Phin. Ab. : Pity on him? On that worthless scamp; 
that venomous snake! Upon my own bosom have I warmed 
him— 

Sol. Is. : Precisely, Phineas, precisely. That scamp and 
snake, and so on, and so forth, has hurt you—understand— 
you, one Phineas Abraamovich Milman, only one Jew, only 
one. Man, man, open your eyes, time to cease being creep¬ 
ing worms; high time to become men. Pity ? Mercy ? 
There are they, thousands upon thousands of our people, 
of our own blood, Jews as good as ourselves, robbed daily, 
hourly, of the fruits of their endless toil; robbed systemat¬ 
ically, persistently, relentlessly; robbed of their honor, their 
dignity, their human rights, their good name; slandered 
and then despised, despised and slandered, again and again; 
the bleeding wounds from the infuriated knout of the law 
peppered with hatred and contempt; insult heaped upon 


A Russian Siiylock. 


79 


injury mountains high—so that our very hearts are being 
crushed—and you speak of pity, mercy. . . . You? 

To me? Eh, Phineas, would to Heaven that all the com¬ 
bined misery of our hapless, persecuted race, were felt by 
you as keenly, at least, as this one little hurt to one Phineas 
Abraamovich Milman! But you are so stock-full of pity! 
You have enough of it to spare even for the savage perse¬ 
cutors of our race! I plead guilty. Heaven has not blessed 
me with so big a heart. My own little stock of pity is 
drained to the last drop of it within the Jewish pale. 

Phin. Ab. : I am as good a Jew as yourself. 

Sol. Is. : But? Now it’s my turn to interpose a but. 

Phin. Ab. : What can we do, Solomon? The Jew is in 
captivity. 

Sol. Is. : ( Savagely ) A—a—ah—you! ( Restrains him¬ 
self. Then, after a pause ) Then go to the synagogue and 
bewail the destruction of the temple. We have nothing in 
common, sir. No, nothing! The captivity! Oh, the silly, 
hypocritical, weak-kneed, lying attempt to justify our na¬ 
tional cowardice. I hate it. Oh, how I hate it. . . . 

Enough talk. Enough. Either you put that honorable blue- 
blood in jail, and I make good every ruble he has stolen 
from you, or forget we ever were friends. 

Phin. Ab. : ( After a pause) Is that final? 

Sol. Is. : Final. 

(Another pause.) 

Phin. Ab. : After all, what’s the Major to me that I 
should be any more solicitous of his good name than is his 
own son ? They will say that for the sake of his money, 
a Jew ruined an honorable family—well, let them. 

Sol. Is. : That’s right, Phineas. Let them. 


8o 


A Russian Shylock. 


Phin. Ab. : You see, the poor Major asked only for 
time. He is good enough for the amount. 

Sol. Is. : I know he is. 

Phin. Ab. : All he needs is the time to raise it in. He 
feels the blow so keenly, poor man. 

Sol. Is. : Then give him time. 

Phin. Ab. : But I cannot, I must pay my bills. 

Sol. Is. : And here we are, just where we started. The 
whole thing over again. Please, Phineas, make an end of it. 

Phin. Ab. : Well, I am sorry. 

Sol. Is. : Then, nurse your sorrow. 

Phin. Ab. : Good day. 

Sol. Is. : Good day. 

Phin. Ab. : {In the doorway ) Won’t you reconsider? 
eh, Solomon? 

Sol. Is. : No. 

Phin. Ab. : It’s a pity. {Leaves the room; shuts the 
door; then opens it and puts his head in.) Is it really final? 

Sol. Is. : It is. 

Phin. Ab. : Well, I am sorry. Good day. {Closes the 
door.) 

Sol. Is. : Good day. Yes, my poor Phineas, I under¬ 
stand you. It is so hard to strike back. It is not always 
cowardice. {Sighs.) Oh, what a miserable lot is ours. 
Be either a ferocious beast or a contemptible slave in cap¬ 
tivity. Choose whichever is to your taste. Happy he that 
can choose. He is, at least, a whole man; knows his mind. 
No vacillation, no wasteful tossing about, no doubts. Jog 
along, and call it life. 

Phin. Ab. : {Re-enters, with fur coat and fur cap on) 


A Russian Shylock. 


8 i 


Look here, Solomon. What ever has got possession of 
you- 

Sol. Is.: ( Impatiently ) Oh, well, well, well. How 
tiresome you are! 

Phin. Ab. : If you are bent on—er—er—cranky pranks 
must I dismiss all common sense? 

Sol. Is. : Of course not. But if you mean to bandy 
witticisms with me, you have ill chosen your time. 

Phin. Ab. : I can see that. I am not blind, thank 
Heaven. Nor am I a match for you, if that’s what you 
mean. 

Sol. Is. : Very well, then. 

Phin. Ab. : I want to ask of you this one favor. 

Sol. Is. : Again ? 

Phin. Ab. : Hear me out first. It is not that. Can’t 
you have patience just for one minute? 

Sol. Is. : Speak. 

Phin. Ab. : I can’t let the poor Major think that I am 
so cruel. 

Sol. Is. : Then don’t. 

Phin. Ab. : I can’t have him think that I refuse out of 
sheer spite. 

Sol. Is. : Tell him you do it out of love for him. 

Phin. Ab. : May I tell him of this my visit? 

Sol. Is. : Tell him anything you please. 

Phin. Ab. : And that I failed so miserably? 

Sol. Is. : Yes, yes. Anything. 

Phin. Ab. : And that all depends now on you? 

Sol. Is. : ( Hurt to the quick) Oh, I see. My dear 
Phineas Abraamovich, permit me to inform you, sir, that I 



8 2 


A Russian Shylock. 


am no coward. For whatever I do, sir, my shoulders are 
broad enough to bear the responsibility. Are you satisfied? 

Phin. Ab. : I am. Good day. 

Sol. Is. : Good day. 

Phin. Ab. : (On his way to the door. Aside) Noo che- 
lovetchina! (There is a man for you!) By God, it takes a 
clever man to make a big crank. Upon my honor it does. 

(Enters Rosalie.) 

(She wears a fur coat and fur cap; in one hand 
she has her fur muff ; a bound volume and a student s 
notebook in the other.) 

Ros. Sol. : (In the doorway) Ah, Phineas Abraamo- 
vich. (Freeing one hand.) Shake hands. 

Phin. Ab. : Good day, Rosalie. I must be going. 

Ros. Sol. : No, sir. This you must not. I come to tell 
papa (courtesying in the direction of Solomon Isaacovich) 
of my great achievements, and you must stay and admire 
my utter lack of self-praise. 

Phin. Ab. : I really cannot, Rosalie. 

Ros Sol. : Cannot admire me ! Oh, horror! Say that 
again, sir; say that again. Why, look at that frown, that 
angry glance, that sour smile. . . . You don’t intend to 

eat me up alive—burrr! (Shudders.) You must have had 
quite a tussle here, I see. Oh, come, Phineas Abraamovich, 
be seated, and tell me all about it. Please. Was it the syn¬ 
agogue choir, the poesy of rituals, the morals of religion, 
the fatherhood of Christianity, or—wait a second—was it 
politics? Oh, I know, I know. Why, of course, that’s it. 
Now I have it. The Cuban rebellion. Serves you right, sir. 
I am pro-Cuban. 

Phin. Ab. : And I am pro going home, you chatter-box. 


A Russian Shylock. 


83 

(Smiles good-naturedly and takes her hand to shake it good- 
by.) 

Ros. Sol. : That’s better. A sour smile neither suits me, 
nor warms me. It’s like a poor sable, Phineas Abraamovich. 
(Laughs.) Like a poor sable. An revoir. 

(Exit Phineas Abraamovich.) 

Ros. Sol.: (Calling after him) My regards to all, all, 
all. Do you hear? Good day. (Shuts the door, then cour- 
tesying ceremoniously to Sol. Is.) I have the honor, sir, 
and the pleasure, to report . . . progress. Most excel¬ 

lent progress, sir. 

Sol. Is.: (Smiling) Yes, child? 

Ros. Sol. : (Pouting) Ah, sir; what unfeeling frigidity, 
this ? I expected to overwhelm you, sir; thought you would, 
at least, at the very least, go into ecstasies of joy over my 
great news, and you freeze me with a monosyllable “yes” of 
doubting interrogation! I am disappointed, sir; greatly 
disappointed in you. Oh, dear, dear! How ungrateful 
papas are. Here I am, plunging into the very depths of 
English classics, going through all sorts of indescribable 
tortures by way of making my preliminary acquaintance 
with that most barbaric tongue, committing crimes against 
its grammar, suffering from poor spelling, false syntax, and 
what not; and all that to please you, sir; you, alone, sir; 
and what my reward! Ah’s me! The worry, and anxiety, 
and cares fathers will cause their children—who can describe 
or recount? Who? 

Sol. Is. : You are in good humor, child. 

Ros. Sol. : So I am. Why shouldn’t I be? 

Sol. Is. : Certainly; the weather is fine; the frost, crisp 
and invigorating; the walk has done you good. 


8 4 


A Russian Shylock. 


Ros. Sol. : Fie, sir. The coarse reasoning of the mate¬ 
rialist hardly becomes you, the Talmudist, and only rasps 
painfully against my present most poetical mood. Oh, papa 
dear. Just think of it! I have written a composition on 
the Merchant of Venice, written it in English, papa, in 
English—and what does my most conscientious wooden 
automaton of an instructor say of it? Here, sir ( pointing to 
a page in the notebook), is the impress of his pedagogical 
judgment crying out from his inmost Britannic soul “Excel¬ 
lent !” Do you see: “Excellent!” written out in big letters, 
with no hesitating hand. 

Sol. Is.: ( Tenderly ) But whence these blue pencil 
marks? Here, and here, and here—the page looks blue. 
This seems to tell quite a different tale. 

Ros. Sol. : That’s nothing. I don’t claim perfection. 
Besides, the composition is but a minor item in my great 
achievements. My recitation leaves it out of sight! Oh, how 
I recited! Herein my instructor proved himself worthy of 
his pupil. We basked in each other’s glory. He admired 
in me his unparalleled success; I in him, his appreciation 
thereof. Grand total, an overwhelming shower of the most 
unstinted praise for the purity of my English pronunciation, 
which was duly accredited as almost faultless. Why, sir, I 
actually succeeded in delivering some of the th’s, as if I had 
a hot cutlet in my mouth to help me. Thus, I have attained 
the unattainable. Do you doubt me, sir ? Here, I know this 
by heart. (Opening the printed volume and pointing out a 
passage in it.) Says Shylock to Antonio:— “What should 
I say to you? Should I not say, Haf a dazug monyee? Fez 
eet pazvssible a cur ken lend free fousand ducats?” Or this, 
papa: “ Fair sir, you spet azvn me azmi O-enzday last—you 


A Russian Shylock. 


85 


spurned me such a day; another time you called me dog” 
But I forget: English isn’t Hebrew; it’s quite foreign to 
your Talmudic Excellency. 

Sol. Is. : Can you not be a little more earnest, Rosalie ? 
More serious? 

Ros. Sol.: (Pouting ) I? What for, papa? Aren’t you 
earnest enough and thoughtful enough for both of us ? 

Sol. Is. : I have business cares, child. 

Ros. Sol. : And I don’t care for business. Hence, to 
paraphrase the poet, I am glad because thou art sad. 

Sol. Is. : And thoughtless, because I am thoughtful? 

Ros. Sol.: Yes, sir; so as to keep up the equilibrium 
lest the firm totter. 

Sol. Is.: A division of labor, child, that is not much to 
my taste. 

Ros. Sol. : No wonder it isn’t. Being top-heavy you 
are in the greater danger of toppling over. 

Sol. Is. : ( Laughing uneasily ) A cheering outlook, in¬ 
deed. 

Ros. Sol. : Then, why not readjust matters? Take you, 
papachka, some of my cheerfulness and thoughtlessness, and 
give me in return some of your sadness and earnestness. 
Yes, papachka? Yes? 

Sol. Is. : ( Patting her) My dear child. 

Ros. Sol. : Why not, papa? You can teach me, I can 
learn. (Sol. Is. shakes his head in the negative.) Be not 
obstinate, papa. You have taught me to be helpful to others 
—or life is but a barren desert. Did I ever forget your teach¬ 
ing? Why not let me be helpful to you, if I can? 

Sol. Is. : (III at ease) My little one is more earnest now 


86 


A Russian Shylock. 


than I have bargained for. Your moods are so changeable, 
child. 

Ros. Sol.: You have troubles, papa? Why not share 
them with me? 

Sol. Is. : For the simple reason that I have none. Go, 
now, to your room. Take a good rest; or, better still, go to 
grandma ; she needs you more than I. 

Ros. Sol. : So ? I am abruptly dismissed. 

Sol. Is.: Go, child. Go. 

Ros. Sol. : Is business so pressing, you can't give me a 
half hour of your time? 

Sol. Is.: Well, yes. It is. The new sheds will be ready 
by next Monday, and we must begin carting. Now is the 
time. The roads are hard frozen; the moujiks are idle any 
way. I can get carts and men very cheap. Besides, I must 
have all the lumber in before it begins to thaw. With bad 
roads, my hands will be tied. But this does not interest you, 
I see. 

Ros. Sol. : Yes, it does. If you can’t admire my achieve¬ 
ments, I can admire yours. So, now we can get carts and 
men cheap. Ingenious generalship worthy of an able “cap¬ 
tain of industry.” It is quite refreshing. 

Sol. Is.: ( Scrutinising her; then kindly and soothingly) 
Is my little girl in the fighting mood now? 

Ros. Sol. : I am. I have offered peace. You prefer 
war. I must now follow suit. 

Sol. Is.: Does it suit you to follow ? 

Ros Sol. : Shall not the daughter obey her father? 

Sol. Is. : Therefore, we are rebelliously obedient? ( Pats 
her gently on the head.) 

Ros. Sol. : I have a right to be. If you choose to play 


A Russian Shylock. 


87 


at hide-and-seek with me, I may manoeuvre for position. 
You hide behind business; therefore will I scrutinize that 
very same business the more closely in order to find you 
there. 

Sol. Is. : But I do not hide, Rosalie. 

Ros. Sol. : The less reason then to thwart my curiosity. 
Besides, I am interested in business. 

Sol. Is.: ( Growing uneasy) Business is not charity, 
child. 

Ros. Sol. : I do not know about that; as, for instance, is 
it a paying business you have now undertaken ? Now, seri¬ 
ously, is it? 

Sol. Is.: ( Trying to conceal his uneasiness )Tut-tut- 
tut, little one. Is the junior member of Herzfarb and Co. 
really interested in the doings of the firm ? 

Ros. Sol. : I am. Now answer my question. 

Sol. Is. : Do you really wish to know ? 

Ros. Sol. : I do, papa. 

Sol. Is. : Well, well, to tell the honest truth, I am bound 
to lose by this move. But I haven't been idle. The loss will 
be reduced to its possible minimum. 

Ros. Sol. : And what will you gain by it ? 

Sol. Is.: Gain? Nothing. 

Ros. Sol. : A loss without a gain, papa ? How can that 
be? I know you better. 

Sol. Is.: Thanks for the compliment ( Taking her by 
the ear as if to pull it for her.) But I have heard it said, 
that a certain hot-headed, mischievous little fault-finder did 
not like over much the generalship of a certain captain of 
industry. Now, Rosalie, like a brave little girl, confess your¬ 
self beaten on all points. 


88 


A Russian Shylock. 


Ros. Sol. : Alas, sir! Have we come to that that the 
senior member and general manager of the firm accepts the 
compliment intended for my father? As junior partner, sir, 
I cannot permit the firm to receive goods assigned to another. 

Sol. Is.: ( Delighted ) Well said, little one; well said. 
(Rubs his hands with satisfaction.) Then, may I beg, dear 
madam, to be informed whom I have the honor to address? 

Ros. Sol. : That’s it, papa. Let us clearly understand 
each other. Speak to me as the man, whom I honor, as my 
father, my teacher, but not as the business man. If you lose 
money intentionally, of your own free choice, I have no doubt 
but your motives are honorable, your intentions good. 

Sol. Is. : Tut-tut-tut, my dear child, whence this ve¬ 
hemence? What ails my little one? 

Ros. Sol.: Nothing; unless, indeed, it’s a pain from 
your pain, a reflection of your ailment. Oh, speak, papa, 
speak. 

Sol. Is.: (Rises, takes a turn in the room) If I have 
suffered, I have not complained. I have kept it all to myself. 
Above all, I have kept it from you, my child. Why cast a 
shadow over your happiness? 

Ros. Sol. : Ah, my good kind-hearted father: “When 
they shear the sheep, the lambs tremble.” Or are we too 
Jewish to remember Yiddish? too select to learn from the 
common people? 

Sol. Is.: (Touched; pats her on the head once, twice; 
takes her head betzveen both his hands, and turns up her 
face the better to see in her eyes; then lovingly) So we are 
Jewish, after all! Brought up in Russia—so runs your argu¬ 
ment, doesn t it nursed on the noblest Russian sentiment, 
ied on the best Russian thought* reared on Russian science, 


A Russian Shylock. 


89 


Russian literature, Russian art—is there still beating here 
a Jewish heart, a warm little Jewish heart- 

Ros. Sol. : Oh, yes, papa; yes! 

Sol. Is. : —full of hot, pure, red blood- 

Ros. Sol. : Yes, papa; yes ! 

Sol. Is. : —pulsating in unison with the lofty ideals of 
our nation, with its noblest aspirations? Pained with the 
woes of our long-suffering people and rejoicing in their joys? 

Ros Sol. : Yes, papa; yes. For, am I not the daughter 
of my father? 

Sol. Is.: The bone of my bone, the flesh of my flesh, 
the blood of my blood. 

Ros. Sol. : And the thought of your thought, the heart 
of your heart, and the soul of your soul. 

Sol. Is. : My dea-rest, dearest child! ( Kisses her, sup - 
pressing a sob ; then, thoughtfully ) Yet, your claim is you 
are a Russian. 

Ros. Sol. : A Jewish Russian, papa. 

Sol. Is. : And I a Russian Jew. Woe’s me. Herein 
is all the difference. 

Ros. Sol. : Oh, papa! papa! why should mere words— 

Sol. Is.: But words have meaning. ( Shakes his head 
slowly.) They have a meaning. 

Ros. Sol. : Then, share your sorrows with me. Open 
up your heart to me. 

Sol. Is.: What for, child ? What good will it do you ? 

Ros. Sol.: Me? Am I alone to be considered? (Sud¬ 
denly changing her tone.) Sir, dare you tell me you hold 
my father in so little esteem as to deem him unworthy of 
my consideration? ( Threatening with her Unger.) Be- 




90 


A Russian Shylock. 


ware, sir, lest his daughter resent the slight. ( Proudly ) 
The eagle screaming, sir, the eaglets raise their heads. 

Sol. Is.: ( Smiling sadly) Can my eaglet fly? 

Ros. Sol.: Dare you doubt it? (As if reciting a les¬ 
son) Fair sir, on Wednesday last you called me dreamer; 
mischievous elf you termed me such a day, another time you 
called me hot-headed fault-finder. Now what should I say 
to you? Shall I not say: “Has a- 

Sol. Is.: (Affected, murmurs) Child! Child! 

Ros. Sol.: —a dreamer no wings? Is it possible 
(Sol. Is. approaches her with outstretched arms) an elf can 
fear the solitude or shun the dark or a hot-headed fault-finder 

t 

shrink from plunging headlong into an unequal combat? 
Then, sir, fly you ever so high, I follow you. Descend you 
into the very abyss, I follow you. 

Sol.. Is.: Child, speak. What language this? What 
mocking words these? 

Ros. Sol.: Mocking? Oh, papa, am I not a Jewess? 

Sol. Is. : (Retreating a step; then, savagely) Was not 
Shylock a Jew? 

Ros. Sol.: (Vehemently) Oh, no, no, no, papa; no! 
he was no more a Jew than his daughter Jessica was a 
Jewess. 

Sol. Is. : Shylock—not—a Jew, and Shakespeare a 
genius ? 

Ros. Sol. : What of it? Wasn’t (after thinking a mo¬ 
ment) —Well, Dante—wasn't he a genius? But you don’t 
go to his Divine Cmedia for your geography, do you? 
You don’t look for his Inferno on the map, do you? Nor 
should you look for a Shylock among the Jews. You can’t 
find him there. Shylock a Jew! Indeed. As well might 



A Russian Shylock. 


9 1 


some unkempt gaping yokel put up the claim that he has 
sounded the depth of the eternal wanderer and measured 
it. To be sure, he could wonder at the strange, road-dusty 
garment; he could notice the angry frown planted on the 
lofty brow by the attacks of the hungry pack of ignorance 
and wickedness, or fanaticism; he could even notice his staff 
and the gold on it; and describe it, as Shakespeare did in 
the inimitable splendor of his poetry.—But to see deeper, 
to penetrate through the outer weather-beaten shell into the 
heart, the soul, the mind of the world’s great wanderer and 
greater sufferer—ha—ha—ha—ha ! As well might foggy 
London strain to give birth to sunny Venice or the puny 
Avon pit itself against the mighty Volga. 

Sol. Is. : My dear-est, dea-rest child! 

Ros. Sol.: Do I understand you right, papa? Do I 
keep in touch with you? Have I put my finger on the in¬ 
flamed wound and caused you burning pain? (Embracing 
him .) Oh, my dear suffering papa’chka, share with me your 
sorrow. Hide it not from me, or my happiness will run 
away from me to search for yours. 

(Enters Esther.) 

Esther: What do I see? That’s it; that’s the way she 
manages us all. Loo kout, Solomon. Don’t let her have 
her way. What’s up, dear ? Oh, I know your game. Don’t 
you, Solomon, give in. She spends enough on her charities 
as it is. (To Rosalie) Or is it something extra? 

Ros. Sol. : It is, dear Auntie, I am indeed sorry that you 
try to spoil my game. 

Esther: Why, why, child. That’s altogether different. 
Can’t you help her out, somehow? Eh, Solomon? 

Ros. Sol. : That he can, but he won’t. 


92 


A Russian Shylock. 


Esther: He won't, eh? And you so clever. ( Confi¬ 
dentially ) He wants you to coax him some more. That’s 
what he wants. Time enough you knew that. At him, once 
more. (Aside) I like to see her that way myself. 

Ros. Sol. : I did my very best, Auntie dear. 

Esther: Still, he refuses? Surely, Solomon, it cannot 
be that the child is imposed upon. 

Sol. Is. : ( Patting Ros.) Oh, no; it’s no imposition. 

Esther: And the case is a deserving one? 

Ros. Sol. : And urgent, Auntie. Oh, very urgent and 
deserving; isn’t it, papa? 

Esther: And he still refuses? 

Ros. Sol. : Oh, he is so cruel. 

Esther : Sh—sh, child. 

Ros. Sol. : Why be so unkind to me, papa’chka dear ? 
Am I papa’s own girl no longer? Be a good papa. I want 
A good, kind papa ( clinging to him). Besides, papas must 
be obedient. Mustn’t they, auntie? 

Sol. Is. : Enough, child; enough. You only unnerve 
me. 

Ros. Sol.: (Vehemently) But why, papa, why? 

Esther : (Puzzled; looks noiv at one , now at the other; 
throws herself into a chair demonstratively and resolutely) 
Then tell me about this case, and be assured you won’t have 
to plead with me half as much. Did you ever hear? “Un¬ 
nerves me!” Fiddlesticks ! Come, dear, tell me your story. 

Ros. Sol. : You tell it, papa. 

Sol. Is. : I ? 

Ros. Sol.: Yes, auntie; yes. Make him tell it to you. 
He knows all about it. In fact, he can tell it better than I. 

Sol. Is. : Oh, Rosalie, spare me that. 


A Russian Shylock. 


93 


Ros. Sol. : Shall I tell it, then ? 

Sol. Is. : Do you know it ? 

Ros. Sol. : I do. Shall I tell it ? 

Sol. Is. : As you please. 

Ros. Sol.: Be it so. ( Collecting her thoughts ) You 
see, auntie, it is about—a—about a poor wanderer. 

Esther : A Jew? 

Ros. Sol. : Oh, yes; a Jew—a wandering Jew. 

Esther: Married? A large family? 

Ros. Sol. : A very large family. 

Esther: In distress? 

Ros. Sol. : Oh, in great distress, auntie dear. 

Esther : Of course, a large family and in great distress; 
for, how else should it be? Misfortune never comes alone. 
“Destitution, whither turnest thou thy steps? To the des¬ 
titute/’ as the saying is. The usual case. 

Ros. Sol.: Not so, auntie; not so! Time was when 
the poor wanderer knew better days, had his own home and 
lands, and worked and prayed, and God prospered him, and 
he earned his bread honestly and was contented and lived 
happily among his neighbors. 

Sol. Is. : And then it came to pass that his neighbors, 
witnessing his prosperity, became envious and started to 
pick quarrels with him. 

Ros. Sol. : ( Facing her father ) Exactly. But it also 
came to pass that his children grew fat and began to kick. 

Sol. Is.: This is true, too—unfortunately. 

Esther : Then, he has himself to blame, child. 

Ros. Sol. : Blame, auntie? Blame? Oh, this is the por¬ 
cupine back we turn on the unfortunate to shield our own 
convenience and even our purse. For, as it has been wisely 


94 


A Russian Shylock. 


said: “He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a 
stone.” 

Esther: ( Piously ) True, child; true. Blessed be He 
whose name I am unworthy to mention. I am only a simple 
Jewess, but you are learned in our Holy Scripture— 

Sol. Is. : ( Smiling ) Ah, my simple-heatred Esther. 

Esther: ( With suspicious uneasiness , to Rosalie) Is 
it not so written? 

Ros. Sol. : It is, auntie, dear. 

Sol. Is. : To be sure, it is so written, black on white, 
and no mistake about it. But the stones are flying thick and 
fast about the head of the poor wanderer, for all that! 
Ha-ha-ha! 

Esther: ( Reproachfully ) Nothing to laugh at, I should 
think. So the poor man quarreled with his neighbors. 

Ros. Sol. : Yes; quarreled and made peace with them 
and then quarreled again. In a word, he behaved quite cor¬ 
rectly. Then his troubles began. The family, while growing 
larger, became poorer and weaker. Strangers took away 
their home from them. Still all was not lost. The unfortu¬ 
nate family have a great legacy. 

Esther: Yes? It’s really interesting. Is the legacy 
worth much? 

Ros. Sol. : ( Looking furtively at her father) Well, well. 
That depends . . . 

Sol. Is. : Why do you hesitate? The question is quite 
relevant (to Esther in explanation of the big word) —I 
mean, it is to the point—and deserves a plain, straight¬ 
forward answer. Or is my little eaglet already arrested 
in its flight and can rise no higher ? 

Ros. Sol. : That’s for me, auntie. Papa is in good 


A Russian Shylock. 


95 


humor, and he enjoys teasing me a bit. As to this legacy 
it is worth much, very much; for the family anyway. For 
them it is indeed priceless. 

Esther : I understand that, for of what use could it be 
to others? 

Sol. Is. : Ha-ha-ha! Therein is the joke. You are no 
expert in business, my good Esther. Men are tricky. Better 
hear the story out to the end. 

Ros. Sol. : At first but few people outside the family 
knew of the legacy. 

Sol. Is. : Not so, Rosalie. The fact is, it was known 
far and wide. It was never kept a secret. Only those fool 
outsiders were at first too ignorant and too stupid to appre¬ 
ciate its value. 

Ros. Sol. : But, finally, they did appreciate it. And 
what do you think, auntie, did they do? 

Esther : What? 

Ros. Sol. : They simply copied the will- 

Sol. Is. : Quite right, my child. 

Ros. Sol. :-and then altered it a bit here and there. 

Sol. Is. : True, child; true. 

Esther : They did ! 

Ros. Sol. :-and then they set up the claim that their 

altered copy was the only true one. 

Esther: Did you ever hear the like of it? 

Ros. Sol. : And the better to lend countenance to their 
claim, they declared the poor family impostors, swindlers, 
thieves, robbers, and being the stronger, they kicked them, 
and beat them, chasing them from one end of the world to 
the other, beating and kicking them all the while, until the 





96 


A Russian Shylock. 


poor, hapless wanderers are now mere shadows of their 
former selves, miserable wrecks, pitiable to behold. 

Sol. Is. : True, my dear child; true. 

Ros. Sol. : So much so, in fact, that this everlasting 
kicking has finally left the poor wandering Jew without a 
vestige of his former manhood, made him a mere rag for 
any cowardly beast to wipe his feet on. 

Sol. Is. : Not so, Rosalie, not so. The wandering Jew 
is numerous and there are all sorts of him. The creeping, 
burrowing worm and the soaring eagle—has not the Creator 
made them both ? And there are they, I tell you, that value 
honor, pride, their national pride, their manhood, as life 
itself . 

Ros. Sol. : I know that. But- 

Sol. Is. : But ? 

Ros. Sol.: [(Aside) Oh, if I but could talk to him 
without arousing his suspicion.] Oh, please, papa dear. 

Sol. Is. : Speak, girl, speak! 

Ros. Sol. : What for ? 

Sol. Is.: How “what for”? Haven’t you just been de¬ 
manding your share? Or is my little one, after all, afraid 
the load may prove too much for her ? 

Ros. Sol. : ( After some hesitation) Well, suppose I am 
afraid. Am I not a Jewess ? Fear is our national trait. 

Sol. Is. : Akh, that! 

(Pause. Sol. Is. shakes his head slowly, then lets 
it fall on his chest; his fingers twitch nervously, he is 
lost in thought. Rosalie watches him closely, in 
anxious suspense, and hardly listens to Esther.) 

Esther: (Reproachfully, with suppressed vehemence) 
Ai-ai-ai, Rosalie. You should have held your tongue. You 



A Russian Shylock. 


97 


think I haven’t guessed your meaning? A Jew is not a 
heathen, not a drunkard to look for brawls and fights. You 
have only hurt him, your own father. Oh-oh-oh! How 
thoughtless children are! (Sighs.) And a bitten tongue 
smarts the more because it is its own kin that bit it. 

Sol. Is. : By heaven, child, this is not true. If the Jew 
fails of bodily courage—the spirit cannot always command 
the flesh, nor can one tell by the prison cell whom it holds— 
the Jew still has that higher courage, the courage of his 
convictions; has always had it, and many were they that 
ascended the pyre for the sake of God; yet not a quivering 
muscle did the glaring flames disclose on their inspired 
countenance. Father Abraham knew how to lead his son 
Isaac unto the altar; and neither faltered, neither shrank, 
and—upon my word—neither was a Christian. 

Ros. Sol.: (Managing to speak with indifference) Ex¬ 
ceptions do not invalidate the rule. 

Sol. Is.: Ex-cep-tions? Exceptions, do you say? 
Here: Esther, my good sister, would you embrace Chris¬ 
tianity ? 

Esther: (Perplexed by the bookish phrase) Eh, Solo¬ 
mon ? 

Sol. Is. : I mean, would you turn Christian ? 

Esther: (Claps her hands and holds them up in hor¬ 
ror) Whatever bad dreams I dreamt last night, and the night 
before, and the whole livelong year—may they all befall the 
heads of my enemies. Did you ever hear! What lunacy to 
enter a sound mind! Bethink von, brother. Woe's me! 
What is the matter with you? 

Sol. Is. : But suppose they offered you thousands upon 
thousands of rubles. 


9 8 


A Russian Si-iylock. 


Esther: ( Impatiently ) Ai, Solomon, with your leave, 
what foolishness this! 

Sol. Is. : Offered you sacks of gold, and- 

Esther : A snap for their gold. Go to. These are not 
fitting words to speak to a daughter of a Jew. 

Sol. Is. : Or, suppose they would threaten you with 
Siberia. 

Esther: I spit upon their Siberia. Nor will I listen to 
you. Not a word more! Did you ever hear the like of it? 

* Did you ever hear ? 

Sol. Is. : Thank you, my good sister. ( Smiling, to Rosa¬ 
lie) She, too, is an exception, isn’t she? And so am I an 
exception. And so are you—you, who would readily kiss 
the cross to humor a bed-ridden Christian among your poor, 
but would never wear it for your own aggrandizement. Eh, 
we are a stiff-necked tribe, girl. Therein is our national 
pride. We have never lacked the courage to live up to our 
principles, or to die for them when necessary. Fortitude in 
adversity—that’s Judaism. Persecution may annoy us, but 
we defy the torturer to do his worse. “Sufferance is the 
badge of our tribe?” True. Undeniably true. But how 
great, how lofty, how immense the mission that so trying 
and purifying a badge should be deemed its worthy emblem ? 
Circumcision is but a ritual. But what its solemn meaning? 
In thy own blood, with thy own hands, shalt thou tear from 
thee together with thy own flesh all that’s base and mean, 
and low in thee, the better to free the spirit in its eternal 
yearning for the higher, the purer—aye, for the highest, the 
purest, the loftiest that is in Heaven. And ever and anon 
was the martyred Jew the savior of Society. And a mar¬ 
tyred Jew it was that gave birth to Christianity, that gath- 



A Russian Shylock. 


99 


ered the pagan hordes into the fold of the one God, the only 
true God, the God of the patriarchs, of Abraham, and Isaac, 
and Jacob. Of our tribe he was. The prophets and the 
teachers—they came from among us. Oh, the Jew has a 
mission among the nations. That’s why we are scattered 
all over the world. That the yeast should work the better, 
it must be well diffused. We have taught peoples God; have 
given them religion, morals, the future life. We have given 
them Jesus. Oh, we are indeed the chosen people. For— 
what does Judaism teach? To redeem man God orders his 
favorite Abraham to offer up hns son Isaac in expiatory sacri¬ 
fice. For the sins of all the Almighty chooses to pay in the 
blood of his dearest. But is the sacrifice inadequate? ineffi¬ 
cient? Is a still greater sacrifice needed? And in his Infinite 
Love he sacrifices his own son to save mankind. That’s 
Jewish tradition, an essentially Jewish inspiration. That’s 
the way the Jew thinks and feels. Aye—and if a still 
greater sacrifice is needed—not merely a favorite, not only 
God’s son—but His own chosen people in its entirety is given 
the badge of sufferance, that it may be worthy of its mission 
to redeem mankind. To wear the cross that man be saved— 
this is our mission. To be a Christian one must, like Christ, 
first be a Jew. And if they, those Christians, those followers 
of Him, whom they don’t follow, have in return for Christ 
given us a Shylock, and envy has turned their gratitude to 
venom; if we are being beaten, kicked, robbed, insulted, 
slandered, trodden under foot, and hunted like beasts, then— 
then—I—I—No, it is not that, child. It is not that. What 
did I want to say ? Oh, yes. That’s it. I believe in progress. 
I believe in man. The time is coming when brains will 
prevail, not brute force; when enlightened justice will rule, 


IOO 


A Russian Shylock. 


not the fist. Then, child, then, and not before, will the 
world for the first time know Christ, and disavow judas. 
Then will the Martyr whisper in the Christian heart, not 
the traitor. Then will the Jew have fulfilled his mission; 
then will there be no need of his badge; then will be the end 
of his suffering, the end of the Captivity. 

Esther : Amen ! Sweet Father in Heaven, Amen ! 

Ros. Sol. : But in the meantime, papa ? 

Sol. Is.: In the meantime? Ah? Yes, indeed, in the 
meantime. See this. ( Produces the booklet with the pic¬ 
tures of his deceased wife.) 

Esther : Ah, what nice pictures these! ( Upon recogni¬ 

tion) Woe’s me. Sarahle.—May she rest in peace. What 
do you want with her pictures now ? 

Sol. Is.: Do you see this? The sweet face of your 
mother ? 

Ros. Sol. : My poor papa. 

Sol. Is. : My poor orphan. You were so young then. 
You could hardly feel how terrible was our bereavement. 

Ros. Sol. : Calm yourself, papa. Dear papa, be calm. 

Sol. Is. : Ah, child, you remember her but dimly. But 
I — I —Oh, my poor orphan, the anguish of that moment.— 
No, no, I shall spare you, my dearest, dearest motherless 
child. What is once covered with the sod—it shall be for¬ 
gotten. “From the dust thou earnest, to dust shalt thou 
return." But can you tell me why her sweet existence should 
have been snuffed out so suddenly, so brutally? No, no! 
It is not that either. Understand me. Suppose I give you 
one of these pictures for safe-keeping—would you calmly 
look on as the unclean hands of the vandal defaced it ? 

Ros. Sol. : I fail to see the trend of your thought, papa. 


A Russian Shy lock. 


ioi 


Sol. Is. : Never mind that. But would you witness 
such vandalism with cold indifference? 

Ros. Sol. : Why, papa ? 

Sol. Is. : But would you ? 

Ros. Sol. : What a question ! Of course not. 

Sol. Is.: “Of course not,” eh? And if the besotted 
vandal trampled them under foot—nay, befouled it, with his 
filthy spittle, could you look on and keep cool- 

Ros. Sol. : Oh, papa. 

Sol. Is. :-and master your indignation? Yet, what 

is this piece of paper? A worthless piece of worthless paper. 

Ros. Sol. : Not so, father. To me it is not that. To 
me it is a reminder—however imperfect—of my mother, of 
her, who gave me birth, whose memory I revere, who was 
kind to me, and gentle and loving. 

Sol. Is. : True, little one, true. Kind and gentle, and 
loving. How kind ! How gentle! Woe’s me! Woe is me! 
You will never fully comprehend your loss. Still, she was 
only human. 

Ros. Sol. : We are all but human. 

Sol. Is. : And you would defend this imperfect image of 
a mere human being, yet whom you respect ? 

Ros. Sol. : So I would, unquestionably. 

Sol. Is. : And why ? 

Ros. Sol. : Because this worthless piece of card-board 
with my mother’s features on it, would by the very attempt 
to defile it become hallowed to me; the danger of desecration 
would make it sacred to me, and to defend it with all my 
power would become a duty—a sacred duty, to shirk which, 
it were simply despicable. 

Sol. Is. : Even so. “A sacred duty, you say, to shirk 




102 


A Russian Shylocic. 


which it were despicable,” ah? And is not He, He, the 
Supreme Being on high as worthy of our respect? And 
has not He, in His infinite love, deigned to fashion us, His 
creatures, in his own blessed image? Isn't man, however 
imperfect, also a reminder—an unworthy reminder—of God 
Himself? Shall we then stand quietly by as hour after hour, 
day after day, year in, year out, is insult upon insult, injury 
upon injury hurled by these besotted Tartar cubs of vandals 
against His own chosen people? What more sacred duty 
is there than to guard against defilement His image im¬ 
printed not on dead paper, but here in the living quivering- 
heart ? What more imperative duty is there ? Can there be ? 
Nor shall I shirk it. Not I, I swear it. I will strike back. 
I will strike back. 

Esther: Master of the world! Woe's me, Solomon, 
are you ill? 

Ros Sol. : Calm yourself, papa; calm yourself. Oh, dear 
papachka, for my sake compose yourself. Please do. 

Sol. Is. : I am calm, child. I am calm. Go now. Now 
go tell her the story of the wandering Jew. She may see the 
point of it more clearly now. Ha-ha-ha ! Ha-ha-ha! 

(Enters Ivan Ivanovich.) 

Iv. Ivan. : Esther Isaacovna, mistress, the coalman is 

here. 

Esther : Sh—shsh ! Don’t scream so. 

Iv. Ivan.: (In lower tones ) Yes, ma-am; and he begs 
to say— 

Esther: Hush, I say. What does he want? 

(Ivan Ivanovich whispers to her, saving something.) 

Sol. Is.: (To Rosalie) Here he is, the Right Glorious, 
Orthodox master mine. He is the superior being. He may 


A Russian Shylock. 


103 


reside wherever he pleases. All Russia, throughout its entire 
length and breadth, is open to him, and Welcome, sir! He 
may employ whomsoever he pleases, not I. He is the son 
of the fatherland, not I. He has rendered his country great 
service; he the superior being, the master. ... I am 
only his inferior. Just look at him. See that brainless skull 
of his! That gorilla mug! It’s repulsive. (To Ivan Ivan¬ 
ovich, who, having done his errand, is about to leave) Where 
art thou going? Just wait a second. 

Ros. Sol. : Oh, papa ; please. 

Sol. Is. : Don’t you interfere now. I just want to have 
a few words with Mr. Son-of-the-Fatherland. 

Ros. Sol. : Oh, papa ! papa! With whom- 

Sol. Is. : (Shakes her off, as she tries to cling to him) 
Don’t interfere, I say. (Shoves her aside and advancing to¬ 
wards Iv. Iv. bows to him.) Accept my deepest regards. 
Ivan Ivanovich, sir. (Bows again; Ivan Ivanovich, in the 
attitude of “attention,” dares not breathe.) See that petri¬ 
fied servility ! My superior ! My master! Thou brainless 
sovereign mine, have I done thee any harm? Ah? Open 
thy snout. Talk. Have I done thee any harm? I ask. 
Haven’t I picked thee up from the very gutter, thou drunken 
beast ? Haven’t I ? Answer. 

Iv. Ivan. : Even so, sir. 

Sol. Is. : Haven’t I given thee employment. Bread and 
shelter ? Ah ? 

Iv. Ivan. : Even so, sir. 

Sol. Is. : Haven’t I, in spite of thy own beastly stupidity, 
snatched thee from the clutches of vodka? Haven’t I? 

Iv. Ivan. : Even so, sir. 

Sol. Is. : But for thy lucky chance that thou didst meet 



104 


A Russian Shylock. 


me, what or where wouldst thou be now ? Ah ? At thy old 
age, ah? Like a scurvy dog thou wouldst have breathed thy 
last in the gutter, in the mire—ah ? 

Iv. Ivan. : Even so, sir. 

Sol. Is. : Who then is master of the house, thou or I ? 
Ah? I ask thee, ah? Who? Thou or I. 

Iv. Ivan. : It is known who, sir. 

Sol. Is.: It is known who, ah? Leave thou this house 
at once. Not a minute more shalt thou eat of my bread. My 
superior, my master, my sovereign! Out of here, thou Tar¬ 
tar breed! Out! 

Iv. Ivan. : ( Retreating ) Even so, sir. 

Sol. Is. : They’ll pay thee off at the office. 

Iv. Ivan. : ( Beginning to understand) That is, sir, 
how is this, sir. 

Sol. Is. : Just what I say, thou art discharged. 

Iv. Ivan. : Even so, sir. Your pleasure, sir. Discharged 
—that is, how discharged, sir? 

Sol. Is. : Simply discharged. Get thy sack and passport 
and be gone. It’s plain Russian, thou idiot. 

Iv. Ivan. : Oh God, my Lord. 

Sol. Is. : Aha! Thou understandest now. 

Iv. Ivan. : Akh, my luckless self. How have I dis¬ 
pleased you, sir ? I have done nothing; know nothing. Here 
is the cross for you, kind master, Solomon Isaac’ch, sir. 
Evil tongues have lied to you, that is; but I never, not so 
much, not a whit, that is, guilty. Okh, my bitter lot. 

(Sol. Is. turns away from him.) 

Ros. Sol. : Oh, papa, please. 

Sol. Is. : (Looking hack) That’s all. They’ll pay thee 
at the office. 


A Russian Shylock. 105 

Iv. Ivan. : But why, sir? Why? For Christ’s sake, sir. 

Sol. Is. : (Facing him) Why? Ah? Why? ( Grasping 
him by both shoulders and shaking him.) Thou Tartar cub. 
Now it’s for Christ’s sake, ah? ( Pushes Iv. Iv. from him.) 
And so it is, ha-ha-ha! The fool has hit the point. It’s 
always for Christ’s sake. Always. They know of no other 
incentive, those abominable hypocrites. (To Iv. Iv.) Be¬ 
gone, and dare thou never cross this threshold again. 

Iv. Ivan. : Where shall I go? Oh God, my Lord, lost is 
my hapless gray head. Be not angry with me, kind master; 
evil-brewing tongues—sir— 

Sol. Is. : Perhaps. 

Iv. Ivan. : At my age, without work, without bread, 
without shelter. 

Sol. Is. : Plenty of room in the village there, now that 
the Jews have been chased out. 

Iv. Ivan. : Oh, Solomon Isaac’ch, find thou pity in thy 
heart, master; where can hapless I seek for a job, a home, 
for my crust of bread? 

Sol. Is. : Ask the expelled Jews how they do it; thou 
may’st learn from them, if thy skull isn’t too thick. 

Iv. Ivan. : Oh, Sol Isaac’ch, little father, take thou pity 
upon my gray hair, my old age. 

Sol. Is. : Pity ? Ask aged Mordecai the tailor where 
he found it? 

Iv. Ivan. : Mercy, kind master, mercy! For years have 
I served thee faithfully, honestly— 

Sol. Is. : ( To himself) Others have served for centuries 
as faithfully and as honestly. 

Iv. Ivan. : —and thou hast always been a kind master, 
little father, Solomon Isaac’ch, and I got used to thee, as a 


io6 


A Russian Shylock. 


dog to his master, and to the house.—Oh, mercy, Rosalya 
Solomon’vna, young lady! Here have I lived; shall I now 
be driven out to die like a dog under a stranger’s fence? 
Oh, my young lady! Oh, Esther S’lmon’vna, mistress. Oh 
—ah—ah. ( Sobs .) 

Esther : {Kindly) Hush, you silly head ! Hush. What 
mischief have you done. 

Iv. Ivan. : I have—done—no—thing ; know — no — thing. 

Esther: Hush, now! We shall consider—wait. 

Ros. Sol. : Enough ! Oh, it’s unbearable! Father, now 
I must have it out with you. Ivan Ivan’ch, leave the room. 
And you too, auntie. Please, please, dear auntie, I want to 
be alone with papa. 

Sol. Is. : Why, are you hurt ? Oh, I see. He is a 
Christian; if hurt he feels it. He is not a Jew. 

Ros. Sol. : Have I deserved that, papa ? 

Sol. Is. : Akh, I didn’t mean it, child. It’s my aching 
sore that spoke up, not I. But what can we do? Poor, aged 
Mordecai and ten others like him need now Ivan’s job. 
Shall we not help our brothers first ? Eem anee lee, mee lee ? 
If I am not for myself, who will be? 

Ros. Sol. : But papa, consider. Shall so ordinary a bit 
of petty persecution as that Decision of the Senate have 
Satan’s sway over your heart, your understanding, your 
sense of justice? Why, it has upset you. 

Sol. Is. : Not so. It has only awakened me; I am just 
rubbing my eyes. 

Ros. Sol. : Be it so! But has poor Ivan Ivanovich 
written that Decision? Has he made the laws, issued the 
ukases? Oh, my father, can’t you see; it’s our system of 
government. 


A Russian Shylock. 


107 


Sol. Is. : Our system? No, thanks. It’s theirs entirely; 
the Jews have no say in it. 

Ros. Sol. : Nor have the Russians—Pole, Russian, Jew, 
Armenian and Finn groan alike—I mean, I mean, yes—we 
must all alike obey the law that the government makes for 
us; we are not responsible for its sins. 

Sol. Is. : ( Kindly but impressively ) Responsible or no, 
but suffer we must. The sins of governments are visited 
upon the governed. This is the supreme law: None can 
escape it; all must obey it. 

Ros. Sol. : It’s a terrible law, papa, if true. 

Sol. Is. : Unfortunately, it is true. 

Ros. Sol. : I must consider. I must think. 

Sol. Is. : Yes, my poor girl. 

Ros. Sol. : (Aside) Oh, would I but could argue with 
him! But how can I ? How can I ? It’ll break his heart. 
No! No! It’s impossible. I must spare him. How? To 
spare one and let many suffer ? Ah, it’s a crime to be silent. 
But, oh! it’s so cruel to speak! No, it isn’t that. It’s cow¬ 
ardice. I simply fear to reveal myself. Shall I then wait 
for the gendarmerie to encourage me? (Aloud, with sudden 
resolution) Listen, papa. Consider. I—I—You have said 
(breaking out into sobs , and embracing Sol. Is.). Oh, I 
cannot. It’s awful, awful. 

Sol. Is. : But it is true, child. Awful but true. 


(Curtain.) 


ACT IV. 


(The same room.) 

Part I. 

Sol. Is. : ( Behind the stage) Tell her to come at once. 
At once. Be quick. (In the doorzvay, with fur coat and fur 
cap on.) And, here—Masha. Be sensible, my good girl. 
Don’t run into her room like a wild goose. Walk quietly, 
speak calmly. 

Masha's Voice: Yes, sir. 

Sol. Is. : Now run. (Shuts the door; takes off his fur 
coat hastily, but not his cap.) Wonder of wonders. Free! 
Free! My David! my brother free! Impossible! Incredi¬ 
ble! But I must think. Ah, that fluttering. (Presses his 
hand to his heart.) It’s actually painful. To be calm, if 
only for one little second! I shall go mad for joy! But 
—why—not ? Why not ? Here I have it in his handwriting. 
Where is that letter? That blessed letter? That blessed 
messenger from Heaven? (Produces a letter of several 
closely written pages.) His hand. His. The elongated 
o’s, German t’s, bulging j’s—his handwriting. My David. 
My brother. A free man! I simply cannot believe it. It 
is too good to be—false. Too good to be false. Ha—ha— 
ha ! That’s right. Oh, David ! How my heart beats. The 
foolish boy! (Reads) “Safe and sound as a cucumber in 
cream, or as a purified soul or on the triple bosom of Abra¬ 
ham, Isaac, and Jacob—which doubtlessly proves that the 
Christian Trinity is but a Jewish unity.” The foolish boy. 



A Russian Shylock. 


109 


Twits me on my “patriotic orientalism/’ as he calls it. To 
write this nonsense instead of saying something about him¬ 
self! Just like him. Does not forget even old Ivan the 
Grumbler but hardly has a dozen words about himself. 
( Turns a leaf and reads) “My dearest, dearest mother; be¬ 
lieve me, I am really well; alive and kicking.” And this is 
all—about himself. Ah, the foolish, foolish boy. Boy? 
Let me see. He is twenty-eight now. Oh, my brother, my 
David. ( Presses the letter be tureen his palms, and raises 
his hands to heaven; then, suddenly recollecting himself, 
puts the letter hastily into his breast pocket.) I must be 
calm. My poor Rosalie. (Sits down.) I must not over¬ 
whelm her. The joy may be too sudden, too sudden. Ah, 
no. I am mistaken. How tardy she is! But I must be 
calm: or, at least, look it; look indifferent and cool—as 
a “cucumber in cream.” (Laughs.) The foolish boy. 
(Pause.) And I thought him dead; and thanked Heaven 
for having thus delivered his soul! What of it ? It only 
proves that I was faint-hearted and of little faith. Dear, 
reckless David knew bettter. He would be delivered both 
soul and body. Ha-ha-ha! How he would have laughed 
me to scorn, had I happened to be there and then to counsel 
patience and prudence. ITa-ha-ha! The patience of slavish 
submissiveness and the prudence of timid mediocrity. Why 
not? Fortune favors the brave and the daring capture 
fortresses. As though people did not escape from Siberia 
before now. These politicals—oh they are daring, enter¬ 
prising, ingenious. Or isn’t David one of them? As clever 
and enterprising as any of them? With as ingenious a 
Jewish head upon his shoulders, and as quick-witted—as 
ever was the pride in Israel! Ah, the little flutterer! 


no A Russian Shylock. 

(Presses his hand against his heart.) How it beats! My 
David, my brother, you are free again! Again alive among 
the living and I thought you dead. The buried-alive burst¬ 
ing open his grave! A resurrection ! A miracle! A resur¬ 
rection in modern times! A blessed miracle worthy of these 
martyred saints. Oh, mother, mother. At last has Heaven 
heard your prayer—taken pity on your anguished heart! 
At last! Oh, God! Blessed be Thou for ever and ever. 
Verily. “Blessed be Thou. Oh God, our Lord, King of 
the universe, who deliverest the imprisoned!” 

{Enters Rosalie.) 

Ros. Sol.: {Surprised, aside) What may that mean? 

Sol. Is.: {Trying to speak calmly) Good morning, 
child. 

Ros. Sol. : Good morning, papa. Why, haven’t you 
gone to the office? 

Sol. Is. : So I have, child, and returned. 

Ros Sol.: Forgottten something? Some accounts? 
Papers ? 

Sol. Is. : Is that the way to greet papa, you mischievous 
elf. Ah? Cross examining me by way of welcome? Ah? 
Oh, you self-appointed board of inquiry! Come, kiss me. 

Ros. Sol. : {Trying to enter into his mode, but thought- 
fid) No, sir. 

Sol. Is. : Come now, thou perverse little tease. Kiss 
papa, I say. 

Ros. Sol. : No, sir. 

Sol. Is. : No, sir; no, sir. And why, pray? 

Ros Sol. : In the first place, sir, one can’t love to 
order- 



A Russian Shylock. 


in 


Sol. Is. : This, in the first place. Good. And in the 
second place ? 

Ros. Sol. : In the second place, sir, because—Oh, papa, 
you have some important news. What is it, dear papa? 

Sol. Is. : (Embraces and kisses her) Good news, child. 
Excellent news. Here. Read. Read, and believe it if you 
can. ( Hands her the letter.) 

Ros. Sol. : ( Agitated , her hands trembling. Aside) Is 
it possible? Has he crossed the frontier? 

Sol. Is.: ( Surprised) Why, child? Your hands trem¬ 
ble. 

Ros. Sol. : ( Her eyes on the letter) Its nothing, papa. 
Only I didn’t know you had correspondents abroad. 

Sol. Is.: Read, little one, read. 

Ros Sol. : “Permit me to inform you, sir— (To conceal 
her excitement) Akh, what a bad handwriting. 

Sol. Is. : Read on, read on, you naughty faultfinder. 

Ros. Sol. : (Reads.) 

Sol. Is. : “Permit me to inform you, sir.” How nice 
of him! Knew what he was about. Chose this round-about 
way of breaking the news to me. “Permit me to inform 
you, sir.” Ah, cleverly done. Cleverly. My David, my 
brother! 

(Pause. Watches her as she reads .) 

Ros Sol. : Oh, pap! (Turns the leaves to find the sig¬ 
nature.) 

Sol. Is. : (Restraining her) No, little one. Be not 
impatient. Don’t look for the signature. Read on. Read on. 

(Watches her; then takes a turn in the room.) 

Sol. Is. : How hot it’s here! (Wipes his forehead , and 


II2 


A Russian Shylock. 


as he does so he becomes aware that he has something on his 
head; takes off his cap; looks at it in surprise as if he does 
not knozv what it is or how it got there; then, upon recogni¬ 
tion, bursts out laughing.) Ha-ha-ha! Ha-ha-ha! I shall 
go mad for joy. Ha-ha-ha! I shall go mad. Ha-ha-ha! 
( Rosalie looks up from the letter; their glances meet) Aha! 
Now you begin to understand. Good news, eh? Good 
news ? 

Ros Sol. : Oh, papa, uncle- 

Sol. Is. : Read on, my dearest child ! Read on ! 

Ros. Sol. : Papa, unc—uncle- 

Sol. Is.: —is free, my child. Is free! ( They embrace.) 
And abroad, and safe, and well! 

Ros. Sol. : So he has crossed the frontier. At last. 
( Then recollecting herself) Oh, you know, papa, I have 
never given up hope. I have always believed it would come. 

Sol. Is.: And I have thought him dead. 

Ros Sol. : What joy! what happines! ( Embraces him 
again, laughs and cries. Tears herself away from hint.) 
Oh, Babusya. Oh, grandma! ( Starts for the door on the 
right.) 

Sol. Is. : ( Seising her by the arm) Whither? Be calm, 
child. Be cairn. The joy may kill mother. We must prepare 
her first. Be calm. I rely so much upon your co-operation. 

Ros. Sol.: Yes, papa, yes. My hope—realized! That 
wild hope actually realized! an actual, good, solid, honest 
fact! Ha-ha-ha! Oh, papa, I can’t believe it! My dream 
a fact! And now that it is a fact, my reason refuses to 
believe it—Ha-ha-ha! Ha-ha-ha! How—fool—ish—is rea¬ 
son ! How rid—ic—u—lous ! Ha-ha-ha! And I have 




A Russian Shylock. 


i 13 

hoped for it all the time—and, oh, how fervently! Ha-ha- 
ha ! I am losing my head! 

Sol. Is. : Control yourself, my dear child! Be calm ! 

Ros Sol. : But I can’t be calm! I feel as if all that 

dreadful suspense-No, no, papa. No. I don’t know 

what I am saying. I mean that constant hoping, hoping in 
silence, without daring to share—That’s it, papa. That’s it.— 
My most fervent hope, that I nourished and cherished in my 
innermost heart but had to keep all ,all to myself—these long 
years—oh, I can keep it no longer. Oh, the joy! The hap¬ 
piness ! I must speak of it ? I must. I must shout! Shout, 
jump, dance, do some mischief! Oh, papa. (Embraces him; 
cries and laughs, the crying predominating.) 

Sol. Is. : My dearest little birdie. I never knew you 
loved him so. 

Ros. Sol.: Did I? Oh, auntie! auntie! (Opening the 
door.) Auntie! Dearest auntie! 

Esther’s Voice: What is it, Rosalie? 

Ros Sol. : Quick, Auntie ! Quick ! 

Esther’s Voice: I am coming. 

Sol. Is. : Be careful, child. Don’t overwhelm her! 

Ros Sol. : Yes, papa. But I haven’t finished it, the dear 
letter. (Kisses it.) 

(Enters Esther.) 

Esther: (Reproachfully) Ai, Rosalie, whatever has 
got it into your head to shout so all over the house? 

Ros. Sol. : (Embracing and kissing her, but caref ul not 
to let her notice the letter.) Now scold me to your heart’s 
content. Oh, dearest, dearest auntie ( kisses her again .) 

Esther : What’s the matter, Rosalie? You haven’t been 
so wild these many a month. What has happened, Solomon ? 


A Russian Shylock. 


114 


Sol. Is. : ( Smiling ) Ask her. 

Esther: Why, Solomon; already back from the office? 
You are not unwell—be it not uttered in an evil hour!—I 
hope. 

Sol. Is. : Never felt better, my good Esther. 

Esther : Then, what is the matter ? 

Sol. Is. : She knows. 

(Esther scrutinising Rosalie.) 

Ros. Sol. : ( Drawing herself up for better inspection ) 
Guess! 

Esther : ( Disturbed ) Why, child? Woe’s me, you have 
been crying. 

Ros. Sol. : Crying and laughing, and jumping, and cut¬ 
ting up, generally, in the wildest possible way. And he, too; 
papa, too ; worse than I. Now guess ! 

Esther : Oh, Rosalie, be a good child. 

Ros. Sol.: See this? Now guess. 

Esther: A letter? 

Ros. Sol. : And a good one. Oh, what a good one! 

Sol. Is. : And good news. Joyful news. 

Esther : From—from— 

Ros. Sol. : Yes, auntie, yes. From him. 

Esther: From David? Is he well? 

Sol. Is. : Well, and safe. 

Esther: ( Crosses over to the nearest zuindow, touches 
the frosty pane first with one hand, then with the other; rubs 
her hands as if performing the rite of ablution.) Blessed 
and praised be His beloved name! Come, child. Read it to 
me; every word of it. Oh, mother! How happy she’ll be. 
It’ll be a new lease of life to her! a balm to her soul! 


A Russian Shylock. 


ii 5 

Thanked be Thou, oh, Heavenly Father. Come, child, to 
her, at once. (To Solomon) You say, he is well? 

Ros. Sol. : Well and safe—and ( glances interrogatively 
at Solomon Isaacovich, who nods assent) —and happy. 

Esther: Happy? (The tears gathering in her eyes) 
Woe’s me. (Sighs.) 

Ros Sol. : (Insistently) Yes, happy. 

Esther: Happy in Siberia, in prison—Woe’s me. 
Woe’s me. Poor David. 

Ros Sol. : But he is not in prison. Is he, papa? 

Esther: (Bewildered) Not in prison? 

Ros. Sol. : (Hardly controlling her voice) That’s what 
he himself writes. (Embracing her.) Oh, auntie dear! 
What happiness ! What joy! 

Esther: Not in prison? How can this be? Woe’s 
me, he hasn’t served half his term. 

Ros. Sol. : Well, do you see, Auntie dear, suppose— 
I don’t mean to say it was so, but just suppose—uncle has 
behaved well, nicely, praiseworthily, and they pardoned 
him, let him out ahead of time. 

Esther: (Incredulous, shakes her head slowly) Par¬ 
doned? No, no! (Lozvering her voice) He was one of 
those—woe to us—against the Tzar. They don’t pardon 
such as he. 

Ros. Sol. : The fact is, he has pardoned himself- 

Esther: (Terrified) Good God! Do you mean- 

Ros Sol. : -and is now abroad, well and safe, be¬ 
yond all danger- 

Sol. Is. : Thank God, sister, for His infinite mercy. 

Ros Sol. : Uncle has escaped and is now free, a free 
man among free men. 






A Russian Shylock. 


i 16 


Esther: ( Overwhelmed, in a lower voice) A free man 
among freemen. 

Ros. Sol. : And out of reach of the Tzar. 

Esther: (In a whisper) —and out of the reach of the 
Tzar. 

Ros. Sol. : And they can’t do him any harm. He is 
free, free, free! 

Esther: ( Her voice hardly audible) —free, free, free. 
(Drops into a chair exhausted; but recovers herself almost 
immediately; rises to her full length, staggers; Solomon 
hastens to her support; she embraces him and sobs on his 
shoulder.) 

Sol. Is. : Compose yourself, my dear sister. May these 
tears of joy cleanse your heart of all sorrow, of all bitter¬ 
ness ! 

Esther: (Raising both hands to Heaven, in ecstasy) 
Blessed be Thou, Oh God, our Lord, King of the Uni¬ 
verse— (Looks to Solomon to be prompted.) 

Sol. Is. : -that deliverest the imprisoned. 

Esther: -that deliverest the imprisoned! Oh, 

Rosalie, dearest child, read to me the letter, the dear letter! 
Let me see it! Just let me feel it in my own hands—in my 
own hands for one little second. (Takes the letter, looks 
at it puzzled, disappointed, kisses it and sighs.) Ah, it’s in 
Russian, and I can’t make out his writing. Come, read it 
to me. 

Ros. Sol. : There is a little in it in Yiddish, too; spe¬ 
cially for you and grandma. (Takes back the letter, and 
points out the place in Yiddish) See. Here. 

Esther: Dearest, kindest David! How kind of you. 




A Russian Shylock. 


ii 7 

Heaven will reward you for this thousandfold. ( Takes the 
letter and reads.) 

Ros Sol. : And, now, to grandma. We must not waste 
a minute. She is very low. 

Sol. Is. : Ah, to break the news to her! The joy may 
kill her. 

Ros. Sol. : You are calmer now, and so am I. Leave it 
all to me. But you must help me. What shall we tell her. 
—Oh, here is a plan, papa. Yes. That’s it. I’ll tell her 
that they have found at the post-office a bagful of letters 
of the Siberian mail that has long been lost, and that there 
may be a letter from uncle. I’ll just give her hope enough 
to brace her up, and then gradually—Yes, papa? (Sol. Is. 

nodding assent.) Come, now. Come, Auntie!-Auntie, 

come! 

(Exeunt all. Rosalie leading, Solomon Isaaco- 
%)ich following, Esther lagging behind, reading the 
tetter .) 

(Curtain.) 

Part II. 

(Sol. Isaacovich, Rosalie, and Esther.) 

Ros. Sol. : But when will the passports be ready ? 

Sol. Is. : To-morrow, I hope. I have set every bureau¬ 
cratic wheel in motion. With money for lubricator, we’ll 
get the passports in record time, you may be sure. 

Ros Sol. : And uncle will get the telegram to-night. 
Oh, how glad he will be, and how impatient! Now you see, 
I was right. How nicely she took it. Poor grandma. It 
was interesting to watch her. She grew ten years younger 



ii8 A Russian Shylock. 

within the first hour. No. She must change her dress. 
Must put on gayer colors. Ha-ha-ha! It were a sin to 
look so sombre. It might mean ingratitude! As if Heaven 
didn’t see it in her heart or could misinterpret her meaning. 

Sol. Is. : Be not so irreverent, dear child. The ideal 
invariably speaks through its one worthy medium—matter. 
Hence, the spiritualizing influence of God’s nature. It is 
poetry and art, when matter is the first to appeal to us. This 
is inspiration—the ideal at second hand. But when the ideal 
is first born in the heart, then we indeed know God. This 
is true religion in its sacred vestments, the ritual. To under¬ 
stand both art and religion, God and nature, is science. 

Ros. Sol. : Oh, papa, perish all poetry, art, science, 
ideals and matter; railroads excepted. We are going to see 
uncle! 

Sol. Is. : ( Smiling ) You reckless chatterer. 

Esther : And Masha goes with us. Mother will need 
so much care. 

Sol. Is. : Yes, of course. 

(Enters Ivan Ivanovich.) 

(Bozvs respectfully. Holds his fur cap in his 
hand; his trousers are tucked into his topboots; his 
cheap short fur coat is held tightly by a broad girdle 
of cheap colored stuff. Takes a step or tzvo into the 
room, and then bozvs a second time zvaiting to be 
spoken to. Sol. Is. frozvns. Ivan bozvs a third time; 
sighs; grozvs still more nervous.) 

Ros. Sol. : Ah, Ivan Ivanovich. 

Iv. Is.: ( Bozving to her) Even so, young lady. 

Sol. Is.: Well? what now? 

Iv. Ivan : (Bozvs; takes another step forzvard, and 


A Russian Shylock. 


i 19 

assumes the attitude of “attention!”) Your pardon, sir, 
Solomon Isaacovich. 

Sol. Is. : What’s the trouble now ? Hast got thy pay ? 

Iv. Ivan. : Even so, sir. 

Sol. Is. : And thy passport? 

Iv. Ivan. : Even so, sir. For without a passport where 
will one go ? Nowhere, sir! Without a passport it’s like 
this:—lost, sir; a vagabond. (Sighs.) Yes, sir. That’s 
what it is. 

Sol. Is. : Thou art no dullard, Ivan. Knowest the law, 
I see. But what’s thy errand ? 

Iv. Ivan.: (Bowing very low, then assuming the atti¬ 
tude of “attention!”) May it please you, Solomon Isaac’ich. 
Do bear up with old Ivan. Old Ivan is a fool, sir; unedu¬ 
cated. It follows clearly, don’t be angry with me, in case I, 
that’s to say, somehow forget my station. Your pardon, sir. 

Sol. Is. : Well, well. We won’t quarrel to-day. Can I 
do anything for thee? 

Iv. Ivan. : Thats how it is, sir, Solomon Isaac’ich. 
May it please you, I am your servant. Have served you 
faithfully and truthfully; that’s to say these twelve years 
have I served. Got used to the family; that’s how; am 
hitched to the house as if with a stout rope. Thought it 
would never break. (Sighs.) It follows clearly, the Lord 
willed it otherwise. Now it’s all over. That’s how it is— 
snapped asunder. The chain got rusty and it broke. That’s 
where it bro-broke. (Points to his heart.) As to that, it’s 
natural-like. “Shut up, thou old fool!’’—say I to myself, 
I say—That’s what masters are for. Hast eaten thy rations 
—I say, hast got thy passport, pack up and clear out. That’s 


120 


A Russian Shylock. 


master’s will, I say, and don’t thou kick.’ (Sighs.) Yes, 
sir. 

Sol. Is.: (Touched) Ah, my poor Ivan. It is not I 
who have willed it, man. 

Iv. Ivan. : Even so, sir. Just my words. “Thou old 
fool, I say, hold thy tongue. Solomon Isaac’itch—with your 
leave, sir—is a jewel of a man, and a kind master; has dealt 
fairly by thee, and squarely; picked thee up, so to say, from 
the gutter—that is, picked me up, a drunken beast and made 
a man of me. It follows clearly, he had to do it; couldn’t 
help himself—that is, Solomon Isaac’ch, tell the truth before 
God and men, are you a bit sorry—perhaps one little bit 
sorry for old Ivan ? 

Sol. Is. : I am, old man. I am. Heaven be my wit¬ 
ness. 

Iv. Ivan. : Old Ivan is a fool, may be, but I guessed as 
much. It follows clearly, law’s law. A new ukase, that is, 
has gone out to the people, throughout the country, to old 
and young alike, to Jew and Christian: At-ten-tion! Serve 
the Tzar and the fatherland! For, what is a Jew? A 
stranger, not of the true faith. Yes, sir. That’s the rumor 
in town. . . . Politics, that’s what it is. Politics! 

Tpfu! (Spits out.) Perish thou! Akh, thou politics! A. 
cunning beast thou art, too much for a poor man, thou 
accursed witch. . . . Got astride of thy broomstick, and 

honest folk’s eyes are blinded with dust, and a fellow is 
belabored so that each limb aches. Ukase, indeed. Here 
have I served, and served, and served, and there now, all of 
a sudden, take that, and that, straight between thy eyes— 
stunned. It’s like one spits out on the floor and rubs it out 
with his boot—nothing remains, nothing. Thou hast been, 



A Russian Shylock. 


121 


and thou art no more. That’s where it pinches; right here, 
under the rib. Plump into the heart it goes, as if man were 
no man at all. So, I say, Solomon Isaac’ch, be you patient 
with old Ivan. May be it’s not proper, or not according to 
rule—but let me bid you good-bye, and you, S’lomon 
Isaac’ch, my good master, think not ill of old Ivan, when 
he—is—gone. And you, too, my little mother, Rosalya, 
S’lomon’vna, God bless you. With my own eyes have I seen 
you grow up. As a wee bit of a hopping birdie have I known 
you—that’s how, not taller—and here ( pointing to his heart) 
were you pleased to build your nest—here! Now tear it all 
out. For-get it! ( Wipes his eyes on the sleeve of his coat.) 
Time, fellow! Ge-e-et out. . . . Yes, sir. ( Turns to 

go. Rosalie places her hand on his shoidder.) 

Ros. Sol. : Papa! 

(Pause.) 

Iv. Ivan. : ( Musing aloud) One Jew more or less starv¬ 
ing for want of work—what does it matter? 

Esther: (To Ivan) Why stand thus like a pole stuck 
in the ground! Knowest how to talk back, but no more. 
Speak up. Say, “Forgive me, Solomon Isaacovich.-’’ 

Sol. Is. : No, no, Ivan. This isn’t at all necessary. 

Ros. Sol. : Papa, please. 

Sol. Is. : (Aside) Strange how one moment of true 
happiness softens the heart and thaws out all the bitterness 
of it! (To Rosalie) Be it so, Rosalie. Let not this day of 
our rejoicing be clouded over by the faintest shadow of 
sorrow. Have your way, child. 

Ros. Sol. : Oh, you’re a dear, good papa. (Kisses 
him.) Now 7 , haven’t I told you so, you unbelieving Thomas? 
Who wins? We win. Hurrah! Plevna is taken! Why 



A Russian Shylock. 


122 

don’t you understand, my good Ivan Ivan’ich ? It simply 
means, you may stay with us, and may again chide your 
young lady as much as you please. Do you understand now ? 

Esther : But don’t you dare to talk back any more, 
thou old grumbler. 

Iv. Ivan. : ( Crossing himself) May the Lord bless 
you all. 

Ros Sol.: Are you satisfied? Now, face about, right 
foot forward, at the double-quick, march! 

(Ivan Ivanovich mechanically obeys the order 
in true military fashion, but docs it rather clumsily. 
They burst out laughing.) 

(Exit Ivan Ivanovich.) 

Masha: ( Putting in her head at the door, announces) 
Natalya Osipovna. 

Esther: The Major’s daughter? How glad I am! 

Ros. Sol. : ( Astonishedbut acting promptly) Show 
her in. (Runs to meet her.) 

(Enters Natalya Osipovna Retvinskaya.) 

(Rosalie and N. O. shake hands warmly.) 

Ros. Sol. : Hand-shaking alone won’t do to-day. (Em¬ 
braces her and between kisses , in a hurried whisper: “All's 
well. All!” Nat. Osip.: I know. Am informed. Must see 
your father alone. Urgent.) Oh, I am so happy! (Kisses 
her again.) 

Nat. Osip. : Glad to hear you are so happy, Rosalva 
Solomonovna. (Shaking hands with Esther and Sol. Isaaco- 
vich.) Don’t you see, Solomon Isaacovich, usually she is 
so unhappy, so morose, but to-day is an exception. Glad to 
hear it. 


A Russian Shylock. 


123 


Esther : How kind of you to come to see us. I am so 
glad. You’ll stay to dinner, won’t you? 

Nat. Osip. : Sorry, I can’t. 

Ros. Sol. : Oh, do. Please. You are not running 
away so soon. 

Nat. Osip. : I really cannot. But if Esther Isaacovna 
will get me a cup of her excellent tea, I shall consider it a 
great treat indeed. 

Esther : Why, of course. I’ll have the samovar going 
in a minute. 

Ros. Sol. : And I’ll see about the tea things, auntie. 

Nat. Osip.: Thank you. (To Esther) And some of 
your lemon jelly, please. I can never forget its taste. It’s 
delicious. 

Esther: ( Delighted ) Ah, you like it? 

Nat. Osip. : Like it? Good Esther Isaac’ovna. I sim¬ 
ply love it. 

Esther: And have some fruit? And cream with bis¬ 
cuits ? 

Nat. Osip. : I am afraid I give you too much trouble. 

Esther: Trouble? Ai-ai-ai! Great kind of trouble 
this! Pshaw! Not at all. Eat and drink, and may you 
well thrive on it. 

Nat. Osip. : Thank you. You are very kind. 

Esther: Trouble? I’ll attend to that myself. 

Ros. Sol. : And I’ll help you, auntie. In the meantime, 
papa, be a ladies’ man and pay her most chivalrous attention. 

Sol. Is.: I fear I am no more of a ladies’ man, than 
Esther is of a grande dame, Natalya Osipovna. 

Nat. Osip. : But she is much of a kind heart. And no 
polished bon ton can be a substitute for that. 


124 


A Russian Shylock. 


Sol. Is. : Thank you. 

Nat. Osip. : However, to be frank with you, I have 
just been indulging in a little diplomacy; playing, in fact, 
on kind Esther Isaacovna’s weakness in order to gain a short 
tete-a-tete with you. 

Sol. Is. : Oh, is that it. You are indeed very frank, I 
should say. 

Nat. Osip. : Please forgive me, Solomon Isaacovich. 
You certainly know the world too well to fail to take such¬ 
like conventional little strategies at their true value. And 
if I was frank enough to call a spade a spade—why, sir, my 
experience of you teaches me to think this the best way of 
dealing with you. 

Sol. Is. : Shake hands, Natalya Osipovna. Whatever 
your game, I confess I rather like the way you go about it. 
However—shall I be as frank? ( Offers her a chair.) 

Nat. Osip.: Thanks. Most assuredly. (Sits down.) 

Sol. Is.: ( Also sitting down.) Beware, then, for I 
am not much of a follower of that crow in the fable to let 
go of my cheese in a hurry. 

Nat. Osip. : ( Smiling ) Oh, I am not flattering you, 
albeit I am here as—as—I come as a beggar. 

Sol. Is. : (Looking at her sharply) Do I understand 
you right? 

Nat. Osip. : (Sighs.) I believe you do. 

Sol. Is. : You desire to speak to me in behalf of your 
brother ? 

Nat. Osip. : In behalf of my poor parents, rather; yes, 
sir. 

Sol. Is. : (Leaning his head on his hand, and his arm 
on the table, shakes his head slowly; then, rising) No, no. 


A Russian Shylock. 


125 

Please keep your seat. Don't trouble yourself. (Aside) 
That this should come on this day of all days. My dear 
David, to celebrate your deliverance with cruelty! (Shrugs 
his shoulders .) There is a pretty combination for you! 
(Pause.) Believe me, Natalya Osipovna, I cannot. I 
really cannot. 

Nat. Osip. : Pardon me. But Phineas Abraamovich 
assured us that you can easily help him meet his bills while 
papa is trying to raise the amount. And, surely, sir, you 
will not refuse to do us this great favor, especially when it 
is partly your duty to do so. 

Sol. Is. : Duty ? 

Nat. Osie. : Yes, sir. Duty. 

Sol. Is. : You speak in the name of humanity, I sup¬ 
pose. 

Nat. Osip. : (Firmly) In the name of humanity and 
justice, sir. 

Sol. Is.: Humanity—Justice, Duty—ha-ha-ha! You 
speak of them to a Jew? 

Nat. Osip. : Yes, sir. To you, the Jew and the man. 

Sol. Is. : The man without a country, if you please. 

Nat. Osip. : I don’t know about that. I do know, 
however, that it is not the country that makes the man, but 
it’s the man that makes the country. But, 0I1! Solomon 
Isaacovich, I really cannot discuss generalities now. I 
merely wished to remind you that it was your determination 
to remove your plants to town that brought on this sudden 
drop in real estate in and about the village. 

Sol. Is. : Oh, so it did hurt them a little? 

Nat. Osip. : Not a little, but very much. 

Sol. Is.: And they feel it? 


126 


A Russian Shylock. 


Nat. Osie. : Oh, they feel it. Especially do my poor 
parents. Papa could have easily raised the amount, had not 
our property gone down in the general slump; and this, sir, 
is all of your doing. 

Sol. Is. : The mill is mine, madame. The yards are 
mine. I have the right to do with my own whatever I 
please. I can do business wherever I choose, and if others 
have lost through my choice, so have I. It cost me a neat 
little sum, I can assure you. But I am well repaid—ha—ha 
—ha! Well repaid for my loss. 

Nat. Osip. : The more imperative then is your duty to 
help us out in our misfortune, since you take so much 
pleasure in having thrown the difficulties in our way. 

Sol. Is. : Oh, is that it ? Permit me, then, my good 
Natalya Osipovna, to refer you with your excellent sermon 
to them who take just as much pleasure in humiliating and 
insulting the Jews—in robbing us— 

Nat. Osip. : Is it our fault? Did my father do it? My 
mother? Oh, my poor parents. If you witnessed their suf¬ 
fering but for one second! The disgrace will kill them. 
Oh, sir, is there no pity in your heart? 

Sol. Is. : Pity ? What is that ? 

Nat. Osip. : Akh, Solomon Isaacovich, don't. For 
Heaven's sake, don't. I understand you. At some other 
time we may discuss your—your—what shall I call it? 
Shall I call it infatuation ? Oh, what an infatuation ! Poor, 
hapless, tortured Russia! Made frantic with the pain of 
oppression, almost crazed by it, are we finally reduced to an 
unresisting mass, that can be hammered into shape by any 
notion, however wild? You, Solomon Isaacovich, to be car¬ 
ried away by the desire for what ? for revenge ? You ? You 


A Russian Shylocic. 


127 


to assume the role of a Shylock, of the Shylock of Ensk! 
You! It’s enough to drive one mad! 

Sol. Is. : As to the Shylock part of it, you may be 
right. But it is not revenge—Heaven is my witness it is 
not revenge. And if I ever felt in my very heart that it 
were hideous ingratitude in me to withhold from a fellow¬ 
being a favor that All-wise Providence was pleased to put 
in my power to bestow, I feel it to-day. Ah, no. It is not 
revenge—not that alone. 

Nat. Osip.: What then is it? The money? Oh, sir, 
would you see our family ruined, my brother in prison, my 
father disgraced, my mother’s heart crushed for the sake 
of a little money? 

Sol. Is. : A little money ? 

Nat. Osip. : Surely, the sum is a trifle to you. 

Sol. Is. : Money? You call it money! It is not money! 
It is the bread and butter of hundreds of the hunted, 
badgered, baited unfortunates whom they have expelled 
from that very same village of which your family, madame, 
are the noble land-owners. Your parents are not to blame, 
you say? Are, then, these unfortunate to blame? By one 
stroke of the pen, were families ruined by the hundreds. 
Men, women, and children—poor, innocent children—were 
made homeless. Shall I now say to the hungry little ones, 
to these suffering little innocents, tortured with pangs of 
hunger and cold, as they stretch their emaciated little hands 
and faintly beg for a crumb of bread—for a dry crust of 
bread—shall I say to them, You, homeless, defenceless, tor¬ 
tured, innocent little babes, go on starving, starving, starv¬ 
ing—that the Major’s son may be spared the punishment 
for his crime? Would that be justice? I leave it to you: 


128 


A Russian Shylock. 


decide. Would it be justice to tell these hundreds of ruined 
fathers and mothers, themselves without food, clothing, 
shelter, robbed of their substance, to continue looking on 
with cold indifference as every little limb of their own chil¬ 
dren is convulsed with the unendurable pangs of cold and 
hunger, and pitilessly to shut their hearts against the appeals 
of their own flesh and blood, because there is one father, 
one mother, of noble birth, whom their son has disgraced— 
and their claim upon our sympathy comes first? Justice, isn’t 
it? Or has the Jewish father no heart? The Jewish 
mother no feelings ? Or has He, All-mighty God, blundered 
stupidly in picking out the Jews, from among all nations, 
for His own chosen people? Or shall the cowardly perse¬ 
cutor, because he is the stronger, be shown more considera¬ 
tion than they whom he persecutes? the torturer more than 
his victim? By Heavens, Natalya Osipovna, you ask of me 
too much. Money you call it? Yes, it is money. It is the 
only eloquent appeal that will stay the persecuting arm of 
your Orthodox Right-Glorious Russians ? Had I this round 
little sum then, on that terrible day—Oh God! if I but had 
this money then—Or perhaps you don’t understand me; 
you don’t know the story. Permit me to relate it to you. 
Don t fear. I am not going to tell you anything extraor¬ 
dinary. You needn’t be anxious. It’s the usual thing; 
quite usual. On an Easterday—just the kind of day when 
such things ought to happen—your Russians moved, un¬ 
questionably, by the spirit of love and forgiveness truly 
Christian, started a little riot. Oh, they didn’t mean any 
harm, of course; they only wanted to have a little fun, you 
know. So, they smashed Jewish houses, stores, homes, 


A Russian Shylock. 


129 


maimed a couple of dozen men, women, and children, just 
for fun, for fun, killing in passing— 

Nat. Osip. : O, Solomon Isaacovich, have pity, spare 
me this! 

Sol. Is. : Why, why, dear madame; it’s the usual thing. 
Quite amusing, isn’t it? 

Nat. Osip. : I will not listen any more. I can’t. You 
have no right to torture me! ( Covers her face with her 
hands.) 

Sol. Is. : Aha! It hurts, ha! But you shall hear the 
story. My wife was among the killed. A young army 
officer of your faith, your race; perhaps, your kinsman; 
perhaps, a member of your own family, looked on, enjoying 
the fun. To him I fell upon my knees. Him I implored. 
Maddened by the poor shrieks of my wife, whom they were 
then murdering—in the street, in broad daylight—I im¬ 
plored him to save her, save her. But he only kicked me 
in the face with his boot. Naturally, since I had not the 
necessary round little sum with me to touch his most Chris¬ 
tian heart. And you call it money! Only a little money! 
You speak to me of justice, humanity, duty. As a Jew and 
a man you address me. Nor shall you be disappointed. I 
am a man—I am a Jew. If it pleased All-wise Providence 
to entrust me with a few thousand rubles that I can spare, 

I swear to God, upon my soul and by the happiness of my 
only child, of my orphaned child, I swear it, that I will not 
betray that trust. Not a kopeck of my money shall go to 
the relief of one of the persecutors so long as there is one * 
persecuted Jew in need of help. A favor done to a Christian 
is a favor robbed from the persecuted in behalf of the per¬ 
secutor. Now, you understand me, Natalya Osipovna. I 


130 A Russian Shylock. 

am Shylock; not he, of Venice. I will not lend three thou¬ 
sand ducats to the noble Christian. I'll keep the money 
for the coming holidays, to buy with it from the Governor- 
General one week’s protection for Jewish property, life, and 
honor. And your brother shall go to jail. To rob a Jew 
before Easter is as yet punishable by law. And your fam¬ 
ily’s honor shall be dragged into the mire; the noble Major’s 
name, disgraced; your mother’s heart, crushed, crushed. 

Nat. Osip. : Oh, mercy! Mercy! Have mercy! 

Sol. Is.: Mercy, eh? Mercy? Please, continue. Go 
it all; the whole length of the gamut. “It drops upon the 
place beneath as the gentle rain from Heaven. It’s quality 
is not strained; it is twice blessed” and so on, and so forth. 
I know all about it. A Moscow fakir could not praise up 
his wares any better than did that virtuous she-shyster in 
trousers. But we are Jews; we don’t know the article; it 
was never shown to us. Not once in nineteen centuries 
was a glimpse of it permitted to stray into the path of the 
wandering Jew. Your pardon. I forget. Torquemada 
did show us mercy. To save our souls, he burned our 
bodies. Such is Christian mercy! Ha—ha—ha ! 

(Pause.) 

Nat. Osip. : (In a firm voice, but with an underlying 
note of agitation ) So, it seems, I have done all I could. 

Sol. Is. : All you could. 

Nat. Osip. : And there is no use to go on begging? 

Sol. Is. : None whatsoever. 

Nat. Osip. : Because there is no pity in the Jew? 

Sol. Is. : No, none. 

Nat. Osip. : No, mercy? No relenting? 

Sol. Is. : No, none. 


A Russian Shylock. 


131 

Nat. Osip. : At least, I hope, there is commercial hon¬ 
esty in the Jew? 

Sol. Is. : ( Cautiously, as a careful fencer) I pay my 
bills. My notes have not been protested. 

Nat. Osip.: Ah, but this is but obligatory legality; I 
speak of honesty. 

Sol. Is. : I fail to grasp your meaning. 

Nat. Osip. : It is this. Suppose I rendered you a great 
service, so that the money that would save my brother, but 
is in your possession, is in fact mine; would you return me 
my money knowing that legally the debt is incollectible. 

Sol. Is. : ( Impatiently ) With your leave, Natalya 
Osipovna, what good can this childish talk do either you, 
or me? You know well enough, that I don’t owe you 
anything. 

Nat. Osip. : But you do. 

Sol. Is. : Ah, you know I don’t. 

Nat. Osip. : I know you do. (Glancing about her un¬ 
easily) Read this (Handing him an open letter). 

Sol. Is. : (Shrugging his shoulders, as he takes the let¬ 
ter and glances at the written page, out of politeness) . It is 
not addressed to me. (Is about to return the letter, but 
quickly checks himself) What is this? 

Nat. Osip. : Please, read it. 

Sol. Is.: (Growing more and more agitated, as he 
reads) His writing. His. The bulging j’s, the elongated o’s. 
His hand. His turn of speech. His style. His. My David. 
My brother! What does this mean, Natalya Osipovna. For 
pity’s sake, what does this mean ? 

Nat. Osip.: Please, read it through! And (anxiously 




132 


A Russian Shylock. 


and eagerly ) oh, Solomon Isaacovich, in the name of its 
writer, be quick ! Be quick, lest we are interrupted. ( Looks 
about her anxiously.) 

Sol. Is.: (When through reading , presses both hands) 
Oh, may God never withdraw his protecting arm from you. 
I knew there must have been some one outside the prison 
walls to help him. And it was you, dear Natalya Osipovna. 
You. Blessed be your noble heart. You saved my dear 
David. ( Starts to read the letter a second time.) 

Nat. Osip. : Oh, David Isaacovich is too kind. He 
ascribes to me more than I have done. 

Sol. Is. : Read what he says. Read. 

Nat. Osip.: ( Gently pushing back his hand with the 
letter) I have some friends out there, and have written to 
them. Funds were necessary. . . . 

Sol. Is. : And you never applied to me. 

# 

Nat. Osip. : The fewer the persons involved, Solomon 
Isaac’ich, the safer the secret. 

Sol. Is. : I understand. For, am I not a subject of the 
Tzar? You saved him! You! You! dear Soul! and I? I 
tortured you, gloated over your misfortune, refused to help 
you—you, who saved him, my brother, my David! You 
risk your life, your liberty! You bring me happiness. And 
I? (Shudders.) My God, I can't grasp it. My mind 
refuses to believe it. I shut my heart against your tears? 
Oh, what devilish trick this? What lesson in this wanton 
cruelty? But I didn't know, Natalya Osipovna. 

Nat. Osip. : Compose yourself, Solomon Isaacovich. 

Sol. Is. : Certainly, I must not grieve you. And you 
had this blessed letter, right here, in this room, all the time, 


A Russian Shylock. 


133 


yet did let me go on in that horrid way! Permitted me to 
torture you and—myself as well! How could you ? 

Nat. Osip. : Believe me, I am not wholly to blame. 

Sol. Is. : To blame you ? Oh, no, no! You had your 
reasons I am sure. I ask no questions. 

Nat. Osip. : ( Smiling ) You will, at least, give me 
credit for having come myself instead of my poor parents: 
so much unnecessary tragedy the less. 

Sol. Is. : Oh, thank you. From my very heart I thank 
you. ( Presses both her hands.) 

Nat. Osip.: So what was I going to say? Oh, yes. 
You know I did not do it for money. . 

Sol. Is. : Why, of course. Such things are not done 
for money. There is not money enough to pay for them. 

Nat. Osip. : Well, then, you see, I did it for the cause, 
on principle, not even for comrade David himself, whom I 
had met but a few times all told, and even then only on 
business. 

Sol. Is. : I understand. Let me shake your hand. God 
bless your brave heart. Oh, these politicals! They are true 
to one another. God bless them all! 

Nat. Osip. : You will understand now, I hope, how 
hard it was for me to turn this service for the cause to 
personal advantage. 

Sol. Is. : Just like David. Yet they say that the age of 
saints is long past. Fools. With their hearts in their 
pockets, and their souls in their stomachs they think that 
logic is shaped by the appetite, and the spirit is chained to the 
bed-post. How says old Krilov, Natalya Osipovna? The 
rats have decided that there is nothing bigger than the cat. 
Ha—ha—ha! 


134 


A Russian Shylock. 


Nat. Osip. : Oh yes. Grandpa Krilov often built better 
than himself knew. So, you see, I feel as if I am trying to 
make you pay for what I have not intended to do for you, 
trying to get your money under false pretense. 

Sol. Is.: This is your opinion. Yours. ( Threatening 
her with his finger.) Don’t you dare to mention it to me. 
I have my own view of the matter, my own estimate of 
your service. 

Nat. Osip. : ( Smiling ) Is it worth the sum I ask? 

Sol. Is. : Forty-times-forty the sum, dear, noble soul. 
One second, please. Excuse me. I’ll just fetch my check 
book. 

Nat. Osip. : ( Seising him by the arm ) For pity’s sake, 
what are you going to do ? A check ? For me ? My parents 
must not know anything. We, politicals, are not patted 
on the head, you know. My case is worse than George’s. 

Sol. Is. : ( Strikes his forehead) Why, certainly. That 
were a fine way of repaying you. Tantamount to a plain 
denunciation. I am too excited. This won’t do. I must 
collect myself. 

Nat. Osip. : Above all, don’t mention it to anybody, not 
to your best friends, not even to kind Esther Isaacovna or 
Rosalya Solomonovna. Dear girl, she is but a child after 
all; and so thoughtless! She may do irreparable harm be¬ 
fore she knows it and then break her poor heart over it. 

Sol. Is. : You are right, absolutely. Thank you. 

Nat. Osip. : And this letter, I must burn it. 

Sol. Is.: (With a parting glance at the letter and a 
sigh) You are right. 

Nat. Osip.: ( Throwing the letter into the fire) It is 


A Russian Shylock. 


i 35 


safest thus. And, please, whatever you do for my parents, 
I have had no hand in the matter. I know nothing about it. 

Sol. Is. : Right again. It seems that I can do nothing 
better than obey you. 

Nat. Osip.: ( Laughing ) Thank you for the compli¬ 
ment. You see how easy it is to manage Shylock. 

Sol. Is. : ( Suddenly Hushing up) Yes, provided that 
you, or such as you—are—the Portia to manage him. None 
other need apply; the job will prove too big for them. From 
this day on, kind Natalya Osipovna, there will be two Rus¬ 
sians held fast in my memory; one, that army officer; the 
other, yourself. 

Nat. Osip. : Thank you. 

Sol. Is. : ( Musing aloud) The old, old story; the good 
and the evil.fighting for supremacy. Whom shall I help win 
the day? We shall see. Meantime, Natalya Osipovna, rest 
assured, Herzfarb and Company pay their bills. 

Nat. Osip. : So they do, Solomon Isaacovich. So they 
do. 

Sol. Is. : You understand me? 

Nat. Osip. : Thoroughly. 

Sol. Is. : And we are friends ? 

Nat. Osip. : Undoubtedly. 

(They shake hands.) 


(Curtain.) 


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